"Sit right down!" she demanded nervously. "Surely you wouldn't think of leaving us so early; why, we'd all get stupid and go to bed immediately, and Clarice wouldn't enjoy herself at all!" She laid her hand upon his sleeve entreatingly. "Stay!" she urged softly.
"As you say," he replied. "It is a pleasure to remain, but you must tell me when I am to go. I thought perhaps you were tired."
She drew her hand away with a sudden movement. He seated himself beside Mrs. Van Rensselaer, who began immediately to congratulate him upon his good sense in remaining.
"But it was compulsory," he returned. "I didn't dare disobey orders."
"I should say not," agreed Clarice, laughing merrily, "we always mind Hope. Everybody does."
"She always knows the right," said little Louisa, looking lovingly at her friend.
"Why, of course," agreed Mrs. Van Rensselaer, "that's taken for granted."
Hope was again in her corner, silent, intent. Livingston could only conclude that she was tired. The rest of them took no special notice of her, nor did they hear the distant splashing of water which brought into activity all the blood in her body and fired each nerve. Clarice was giving an elaborate account of her day's experience, consequently no attention was paid to the girl's abrupt departure. She smiled at Louisa as she passed quietly out and made some remark about her horse, which gave the impression that she might have forgotten something. At least Livingston and Louisa received that impression; as for the others they were busy, and besides Hope was Hope, who always followed her own free fancy.
The girl fairly flew along the trail that skirted the creek until she grasped the bridle of a small Indian pony that was nosing its way cautiously toward her.
"Oh, it's you!" exclaimed its small rider in a relieved tone, as he slipped to the ground and stood in the path beside the girl. "I was mighty scared it might be somebody else." Hope raised the boy's face so that the moon shone full upon it.