Part 3 (2/2)

In the stables, much to his astonishment, he came fairly upon the girl whose propensity for losing things he had described with so much gusto the evening before.

”I beg your pardon,” he said, quickly--he seemed to be always begging her pardon--”but I was looking for your coachman. I--he--I hoped he could tell me the name--that is, of course he knows the name--I mean, I wanted his brother's address.”

Peter was no stammerer, and it irritated him very much to be saying all this so awkwardly, but there was something about the cool dark eyes of this girl, as she stood looking at him, which rather disconcerted him.

She had evidently just dismounted from her horse, and now Peter observed two things--first that she was rather oddly pale, and second, that her side-saddle had slipped, and rested at an altogether improper angle upon the horse's back. As he saw this he came forward.

”What is the matter?” he asked quickly. ”You haven't had a fall? You didn't ride this way, of course?”

”Yes, I did,” she answered, lifting her head rather high, and then suddenly drooping it again.

”How far? When did it slip? Were you alone?” Peter examined the side-saddle.

”It began to slip--back--at--the boulevard,” said the girl, rather slowly. ”I--I don't know just how I kept on, but I did. Lewis is n't here. He ought to be. I can't put up Blackthorn myself.”

”Let me do it for you.” Peter took the bridle from her. He soon had the horse in the stall and had put away the saddle and bridle.

”That was a plucky thing to do,” declared Peter, coming back to the stable door, where the girl had dropped into the coachman's chair, ”to ride home with a slipping saddle. But you ought not to have done it, you know. It might have slipped a lot more with a jerk, and thrown you.

See here, you 're not feeling just right, are you? Shall I call somebody?”

”No, no!” She started up. ”If mother knew the least thing went wrong she would n't let me ride at all. If you--if you just would n't mind staying here a little, till I feel like myself again----”

”Why, of course I will”--and Peter stayed.

It was only for a few minutes, and meanwhile Lewis, the coachman, had returned, and the matter of the loose saddle-girth had been fully discussed by all three. Then Peter took his way home.

Jane met him at the door. ”Did you find where the plasterer lives?” she asked, eagerly.

Peter stared at her, turned about, and gazed across the street, as if he expected to see a plasterer following in his path, trowel and float in hand. Then he burst into a laugh. He mumbled something which sounded like a very peculiar name, if it was a name, and rapidly retraced his footsteps across the street, to make his inquiry of Lewis, the coachman.

CHAPTER III

PETER SEES A LIGHT

The Bells had been at home for a fortnight in Gay Street.

The little house was in order from cellar to roof, and its occupants had settled down to the routine of their daily living, well content with the new abode. In a way they missed the larger house and freer environments of the remote suburban place they had left, but the early hour at which Mr. Bell and the boys were now able to reach home, and the later one at which they could leave in the morning, amply compensated for the more cramped quarters made necessary by the higher rates of rental in the city.

”It's not a very friendly neighborhood, though, is it, Janey?” commented Peter one evening, as he and Jane stood on the porch, enjoying the mild mid-April evening. ”How many calls have you had? Two?”

”Three,” corrected Jane, cheerfully. ”The two old ladies on the right, the mother of six the left, and one odd person from Westlake Street.

The rest are still looking us over.”

”n.o.body from Worthington Square?” Peter's tone was quizzical.

”Absolutely n.o.body,” Jane laughed. ”But we have one acquaintance in Worthington Square, Peter--the little Townsend girl with the sweet, pale face. She wants to know us dreadfully, and she's such a dear, democratic little person the smiles positively tremble on her mouth when I meet her--which I do almost every day. So does Nancy. It 's the oddest thing! Nan says she almost never stirs out that the Townsend child does n't appear.”

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