“The Maids of Merry England, the Merry, Merry Maids of England!”
There was a hedge on the other side of the brook, and Doris raised herself on her elbow and looked over.
What she saw was a young man galloping across the meadow at a breakneck speed, which the horse seemed to enjoy as much as his rider.
Doris had never seen any one ride like that, and she was too absorbed in the general spectacle to notice that the young man was singularly handsome, and that he made, as he sat slightly in the saddle, with the sunset rays turning the yellow of his mustache and hair to pure gold, a picture which Murillo might have painted and christened “Youth and Health.”
She watched for a moment or two; then, thinking herself safe from observation behind her hedge, sank down again, and took up her book.
But the thud, thud, and the “Maids of Merry England” came nearer and nearer. Then they stopped together, and a voice, speaking this time, said:
“Hallo, old girl!—over with you!”
The next moment Doris saw horse and rider in the air, almost above her head, and the next the horse was on its knees, with its nose on the ground, and the rider lay stretched at her feet, as if a hand from the blue sky had hurled him from his seat.
CHAPTER II.
OVER THE FENCE.