Phil hurried from the tent. Dimples was sitting on a property box, industriously engaged on a piece of embroidery work. She made a pretty picture perched up on the box engaged in her peaceful occupation with the needle, and the lad stopped to gaze at her admiringly.
Dimples glanced down with a smile.
"Does it surprise you to see me at my fancy work? That's what I love. Why, last season, I embroidered a new shirt waist every week during the show season. I don't know what I'll do with them all. But come over here and sit down by me. I ought to thank you for saving my life this afternoon, but I know you would rather I did not."
Phil nodded.
"I don't like to be thanked. It makes me feel—well, awkward,
I guess. You froze, didn't you?"
"I did," and Dimples laughed merrily.
"What made you do so—the horse?"
"Yes. I thought he was going to fall all the way down, then by the time I remembered where I was I couldn't turn to save my life. I heard you call to me to do so, but I couldn't. But let's talk about you. You hurt your back, didn't you?"
"Nothing to speak of. It will be all right by morning. I'm just a little lame now. Where were you—what show were you with last year?"
"The Ringlings."