We didn’t ride home till quite the evening. Grace would have us stay for tea; it was a pretty hot day, so there was no use riding in the sun. George saddled his horse, and he and Grace rode part of the way home with us. He’d got regular sunburnt like us, and, as he could ride a bit, like most natives, he looked better outside of a horse than on his own legs, being rather thick-set and shortish; but his heart was in the right place, like his sister’s, and his head was screwed on right, too. I think more of old George now than I ever did before, and wish I’d had the sense to value his independent straight-ahead nature, and the track it led him, as he deserved.

Jim and I rode in front, with Gracey between us. She had on a neat habit and a better hat and gloves than Aileen, but nothing could give her the seat and hand and light, easy, graceful way with her in the saddle that our girl had. All the same she could ride and drive, too, and as we rode side by side in the twilight, talking about the places I’d been to, and she wanting to know everything (Jim drew off a bit when the road got narrow), I felt what a fool I’d been to let things slide, and would have given my right hand to have been able to put them as they were short years before.

At last we got to the Gap; it was the shortest halt from their home. George shook hands with Aileen, and turned back.

“We’ll come and see you next-.” he said.

“Christmas Eve!” said Aileen.

“Christmas Eve let it be,” says George.

“All right,” I said, holding Grace’s hand for a bit. And so we parted—for how long, do you think?

Chapter XVI

CHAPTER XVI