After winning on Lauzanne Allis had dodged the admiring crowd of paddock regulars that followed her. As Lauzanne was being blanketed she had kissed the horse's cheek and given him a mighty squeeze of thankfulness. How nobly he had done his part; good, dear old despised, misjudged Lauzanne. He had veritably saved her father from disaster; had saved her from—from many things.

She had slipped into her long coat and stood waiting for Mike to drive her to Dixon's cottage when the rumor came of an objection. Then there had been the misery of terrible suspense, a wait of uncertainty. Was her sacrifice of womanly instinct to go for nothing? Dixon had hurried to the scene of investigation; then he had come back after a little with Mike, and the good news that they had been given the race. If it had not been for prying eyes she would have knelt there at Lauzanne's feet and offered up a prayer of thankfulness. She had done all a woman could do, almost more; Providence had not forsaken her and her stricken father.

Then Mike had hurried her to the buggy just as Crane, leaving the beaten Dutchman and Langdon, had come, asking Dixon where Miss Porter was, that he might tender congratulations. He wanted to see the boy that had ridden Lauzanne, also—wanted to take his hand and tell him what a grand race he had ridden. But Dixon had been ready with excuses; the boy was dead beat after the race—he was only a kid—and had gone to Dixon's home. Miss Porter was perhaps in the stand, or perhaps she had gone home also. Crane knew of Langdon's objection. It was a silly thing, he said, due to overeagerness. He had taken no part in it, he assured Dixon. Alan Porter, too, came into the paddock, asking for his sister; but fared pretty much as Crane had. He would certainly find her at the cottage, Dixon assured him.

That night Allis wired the joyful tidings to her father, and that she would be home in the morning.

Dr. Rathbone's prophecy as to the proper medication for John Porter stood a chance of being fulfilled in one day. Allis's telegram proved that the doctor had understood the pathology of Porter's treatment, for he became as a cripple who had touched the garment of a magic healer.

It was thus that Allis found him when she reached Ringwood. Oh, but she was glad; and small wonder. What she had done was as nothing; it shrank into insignificance under the glamourous light of the change that had come over the home. What a magic wand was deserved success; how it touched with fairy aspect all that drooped with the fearsome blight of anticipated decay! And even then they did not know the full extent of her endeavor. Mingled with her mother's gentle welcome, and her father's full-throated thanks, was praise for the, to him unknown, boy that had ridden Lauzanne so gallantly.

The girl found tears of thankfulness glistening in her eyes as she listened to the praise that was wholly hers, though given in part to the jockey. They had not even heard his name—it had not mattered before; and now when her father asked for it, she answered that Mike called him Al something. Her father, generous in his salvation, was most solicitous as to a fitting present; a thousand dollars, or perhaps two, or even more, if Dixon advised so. What had he promised the lad? But there were so many things to talk over and settle, and laugh about, and congratulate each other upon. Good fortune was a generous dame. They were all like children in their happiness. \ “Yes, Alan had been there,” the girl answered to a question from her father. Also it was a strange happening, a distortion of fate that Crane had beaten them in the Brooklyn with Diablo, and now they had beaten his horse, The Dutchman, with Lauzanne the Despised. All was content after the turmoil of endeavor. And of the horses, Lauzanne, who would gallop for no one but Allis, would be brought back to Ringwood, to be petted and spoiled of his young mistress for the good he had done. Lucretia, when convalescent, would also come to the farm to rest and get strong.

In the midst of it all Dr. Rathbone came in, and of course, man-like and doctor-like, with pretended pomposity, said: “I told you so. What did I say? Now Mrs. Porter, no more scolding over the ways of horses, a good horse is a delight, and a good daughter a joy forever.”

Dear old Dr. Rathbone, wise in his generation and big of heart!