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No, I barely remembered the rider had generously moved aside to let me go by. In pure sourness at the poverty of my dress and the perfection of his, I had avoided looking at him higher than his hundred-dollar boots. My feet were in uncolored cowhide, except the toes.

"Has he a taste for fiction?" I asked, with a depreciative smirk.

Certainly no cricket ever dropped blither music from his legs than did my beautiful horse that glorious morning as we clattered in perfect rhythm on the hard clean road of the wide pine forest. Ah! the forest is not there now; the lumbermen--

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"That will do. Now, beyond Fayette, about seven miles north, there's a place--"

"Good-bye." I could barely hear it.

"I haven't been ordered to tell any one where I'm going."

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