eagerness, and a wild desire to distinguish himself as a hero, in the eyes of the pretty girl whom he had been taking to barn dances and such for two whole seasons, and with whom he had lately had a little falling out.

He brushed his long football hair away from his eyes, and looked again. Yes, old Bill must have taken the bit between his teeth, if he had any left, and was renewing his youthful days; for they used to tell great stories about his having once upon a time been a clever race horse—about thirty-odd years ago, some people put it.

Steve started to run along the road. He had undoubtedly mapped out the whole affair in his mind, like a good general, and cared not what risks he assumed if only he might pull that galloping horse in, so as to save the fair girl.

Max was shouting something to him from away back in the rear, but it was surely no time to stop and listen now, when a human life, and a precious one to Steve, might lie in the balance.

He may have wondered why a girl as sensible as Bessie French should persist in standing erect in the vehicle, and also what business she had to be holding that whip. Steve did not take the trouble to ask himself these bothersome questions. He knew that real heroes act while other people are figuring things out. He must run alongside that rushing horse, until he could jump up, seize the reins close to the bit and then throw his whole weight so as to bring the animal to a stop.

Well, Steve really managed to do this in a way that should have won for him considerable credit. He got more or less knocking around before he could curb the fiery steed; but what should he care so long as his object was accomplished. When he had brought old Bill to a complete standstill, he meant to assist the almost fainting girl to the ground, and then perhaps she would tell him how brave he was, and what a fool she had been to quarrel with him.

He heard her calling out excitedly to him, but supposed Bessie might naturally be anxious about his safety, dear girl.

Steve finally managed to bring old Bill to a stand; and it was wonderful how quickly all the spirit went out of the ancient horse once he felt the hand of a master at the rein.

As the heroic rescuer turned around he was staggered to see the pretty face of Bessie French clouded with a frown, and to hear her bitterly tell him how silly he had been to stop her in that way.

"Why, don't you see I was only trying to prove to Mazie Dunkirk that our old Bill still had some fire left in him!" she cried, with tears of mortification in her voice. "She said he couldn't run all the way to the cross-roads and back again in seven minutes, and I just knew he could. But now you've stopped us, and I've lost a candy pull. If some people only knew enough to attend to their own affairs it would be better for them. Please let go of that bridle; I want to go on!"

Steve seemed turned into a pillar of stone. He stood there, and just stared as hard as he could at the girl in the buggy. His hand though released its clutch upon the reins, and the girl, plying the whip on old Bill, swept past, giving him one last scornful look as she went; for indeed the usually elegant Steve must have impressed her as having taken to the life of a tramp, he was so soiled and streaked.

Max and Toby and Bandy-legs had listened, and also stared. They grinned of course when they realized how their brave companion's efforts were wasted on the desert air; but did not say a single word as they walked on, and overtook the dazed Steve, still standing there as though hardly able as yet to figure it out.

He managed to grin a little himself, even while rubbing his elbow, where it may have been knocked by the shaft of the vehicle at the time he made that gallant upward jump.

"Huh! seemed like it wasn't a runaway after all!" he told them; "but how was anybody to know about that, when it had all the earmarks of one? I never waited to ask, but saw my duty and did it. Lots of thanks I got, didn't I? It'll likely be some time before Steve Dowdy bothers himself to stop horses again at the risk of his own life. Why, she looked like she could eat me when she drove off. A fellow's a fool to think a girl could appreciate a job like that. Huh!"

"Never mind, Steve," said Max, throwing an arm over the shoulder of his friend; "we know that if it had been a sure-enough runaway you'd have covered yourself with glory, and saved her life in the bargain. Who'd ever expect girls to be wagering candy pulls about an old nag making time? And anybody to see old Bill tearing along would say he was running away. It's all right, Steve; forget it now. You made a great stop, there's no getting around that."

"I should say he did!" added Bandy-legs; "and when Bessie comes to think of how you risked your precious life, just because you thought she was in danger, why, I don't see how she can help but feel sorry for being so sharp with her tongue. But then all girls think of is candy-pulls, dancin' and such things as dress. Nope, it don't pay for a feller to play the hero any more. You wouldn't ketch me adoin' it, for a fact."

Toby started to say something that may have had to do with his opinion concerning the impossibility of any one built like Bandy-legs being agile enough to run alongside a racing horse; but he made such a mess of it, or else on second thought felt it would be mean to say it, for he stopped short, gulped several times, and relapsed into silence.

Sometimes that affliction of Toby's saved him from getting into trouble and controversies, which proved that it was after all not an unmixed evil.

After that they went on toward home, chattering like a lot of magpies about the glorious times they expected having in the following week, should the weather permit of their going off to the woods, on their first outing of the season.

Before separating they divided the spoils of the frog hunt. After due consideration Bandy-legs concluded that it would be best for him not to bother his folks with any of the proceeds of the expedition to the big pond.

"I'll drop over to your house to-morrow, Toby," he said, as he handed the other his share of the trophies in the shape of five saddles, "and p'raps you'd be kind enough to save me a couple of these, no matter if they are cold. I don't dare upset our cook. She's the boss of the kitchen in our house, and if you rub her the right way you c'n get whatever you want; but she does everlastingly hate the looks of frogs' legs, and vowed the last time I fetched some home she'd leave before she cooked 'em again. Besides, mebbe next week we'll run across our fill of the same when we're campin' out, and then I can have all I want."

Toby readily agreed to this, for he was a most accommodating fellow. He even made Bandy-legs promise to eat dinner with him when the wonderful dish of frogs' legs would be served.

"I'll have the s-s-same, even if I have to c-c-cook 'em m-m-myself!" Toby promised, in parting.

"If you look over there," remarked Max, casually, "you'll notice that bank of dark clouds has climbed up a little now. Seems like it might be going to whoop things up some before morning comes along."

"Well, it's Sunday, and all we could do would be to hang around the house, or walk down to see how the old circus was coming on," Steve observed, with the calm philosophy of a boy.

"It's going to clear the air for next week, and give us the greatest time ever," Max went on to say, in his optimistic way, for he was ever