“Maude, you're incorrigible,” laughed Alice.
“No, I'm a sensation. I was full of them as I dashed on. But she was a well-bred horse and kept in the middle of the road. Then, to my joy, I saw Dixie ahead. As I went by her I yelled—yes, yelled—'she's running away.'
“Dixie yelled—yes, yelled—'Hold on, I'll catch you.' She did, but we ran more than a mile before she got even with me, grasped my horse's bridle, and pulled her round so quickly that I came near landing in the bushes. And here I am.”
“You must not ride her again,” said Alice.
“That's just what I am going to do. I'm not going to deprive that horse of my company, when it was all my fault. No more whip, she needs only the voice—and little of that.”
“Alice,” said Quincy, “Mr. Strout has invited us to dinner. He will be offended unless his invitation is accepted.”
“I don't feel equal to meeting that man in his own house. I cannot bear him even at long range. Take Maude.”
“I'll go, Quincy. I love these odd characters.”
“He's married and has a little boy,” said Alice.
“Then my love for the father will be invisible—I'll shower my affection upon his offspring.”