"Yes. We had a farm in Australia, twenty-eight miles from a town, and, when he was riding back home one night, the pony caught its foot and threw him." He paused. "I found him lying along the track next morning," he added grimly.
Faith drew a long breath.
"And you were only fifteen! How awful!"
"Yes, it was pretty bad. I know I sat there beside him in the scorching sun and cried for half the day, till someone came along and took me home."
"And—then?" she asked.
"Oh, I've roughed it in thousands of ways since then, and I'm tired of roughing it. That's why I want to get married." His eyes softened as they looked at her. "I think you and I will get on well together," he said.
"Yes," Faith assented. "I think so, too."
"And I'm to fix it up without your mother knowing, is that it?"
"Yes—if you—if you don't mind."