Meanwhile the runaways were having the very time of their lives. Not since that two-mile race to Four Corners for the letter which proved the wedge to divide her own and Athol’s ways, had Beverly been able to “let out a notch,” as she put it. Nor had the little broncho been permitted to twinkle his legs as they were now twinkling over that soft dirt road. Virginia roads were made for equestrians, not automobiles. Head thrust forward as far as his graceful slender neck permitted, ears laid back for the first unwelcome word to halt, eyes flashing with exhilaration, and nostrils wide for the deep, full inhalations and exhalations which sent the rich blood coursing through each pulsing artery, little Apache was enjoying his freedom as much as his rider. In two seconds they were at the top of a rise of ground, down at the further side and out of sight of the others. Then, to make the exhibition realistic, Beverly drew out her hat pin, gave it a toss to the side of the road, and the wind completed the job by whisking her soft felt hat off her head and landing it upon the roadside bush.

Oh, it was glorious! Five miles? What were five miles to the little beastie which had many a time pounded off twenty-five without turning a hair? Or to Beverly who had often ridden fifty in one day with Uncle Athol and her brother? Just a breather. And when there swept through the gateway of Kilton Hall a most exalted, hatless, rosy-cheeked, dancing-eyed lassie mounted upon a most hilarious steed, the gate-keeper came within an ace of having apoplexy, for she was a portly old body.

But Beverly did not pause for explanations. Her objective point was the athletic field at the rear of the building and her appearance upon it might have been regarded in the light of a distinct sensation. It would never do to forsake too promptly the role of being run away with. There were coaches and referees upon tennis court, cinder path and football field, and boys galore, in every sort of athletic garb, performing every sort of athletic stunt.

When Beverly set out to do anything she rarely omitted any detail to make it as near perfect as possible. As she tore across the lawn which led to the field her sharp eyes discovered Athol upon one of the tennis courts and closer at hand a lot of other boys sprinting, gracefully or otherwise, around the cinder path, taking hurdles placed about a hundred feet apart.

Now, if there was one thing in this world upon which Apache and his young mistress agreed more entirely than another, it was the pure delight of skimming over a fence. A five-footer was a mere trifle. The three-foot hurdles upon the cinder path a big joke. The tennis nets? Pouf!

If Beverly really was tugging upon Apache’s bridle he was not permitting anything so trivial as a girl’s strength to bother him, and her knees told him quite a different story as he swept upon the cinder path, took two hurdles like a deer and was off over the tennis courts and over a net before the astonished players could draw a full breath.

Then they woke up!

“It’s a runaway!” cried Mr. Cushman, who had charge of the football coaching, to be echoed by the tall quarter back in football togs, as both broke away in pursuit, the whole field quickly taking the alarm also. But that tennis court held one individual whose wits worked as quickly as the star performer’s, and there and then shrilled across it a high-pitched, peculiar whistle which they both knew mighty well, and the four-legged one obeyed instanter by wheeling so suddenly that he put a very realistic climax upon the scene by nearly unseating the two-legged one, as he tore pell mell for the whistler and came to a sudden halt in front of him, to the increased astonishment of the general audience.

“Gee whiz, Bev! What’s let loose?” cried Athol, trying to respond to Apache’s nozzling, whinnying demonstrations of delight and reach his sister’s extended hands at the same time, while Archie did his record-breaking sprint across the gridiron, and the whole field came boiling toward them.

“I have. Don’t you see I’ve been run away with? It’s lucky Apache turned in here,” answered Beverly, with remarkable calmness for one so lately escaped from disaster or sudden death, as she brushed back her flying locks, for—well—reasons.

“Run away nothing! You run away with! Piffle. Ah, cut it out Apache! I know you’re ready to throw a fit at seeing me, but keep bottled up for a minute, won’t you?” he ended as Apache lay hold of his tennis shirt and tried to jerk him into attention. But he gave the bony little head a good-natured mauling nevertheless, as Archie rushing up exclaimed:

“You’re a winner, Bev!” Then the others surrounded them, the two coaches really concerned lest the young lady had suffered some mishap, and Mr. Cushman brushing the boys aside as he asked:

“Are you faint? Can we be of any assistance?” and Mr. Ford, the new instructor from Yale and mighty good to look upon (so decided Beverly in the space of one glance) pressed to her side to ask: “Were you riding alone when your mount bolted?”

Before Beverly could draw breath to reply the answer came from another quarter.

Now there is no such accomplished actor, (or liar) upon the face of the round world as your genuine darkey. Indeed he can do both so perfectly that he actually lives in the characters he temporarily creates and believes his own prevarications, and that, it must be admitted, is some achievement.

When Beverly departed so suddenly upon her self-elected route, Jefferson naturally had but a very hazy idea of her intentions. He knew Kilton Hall lay over five miles straight ahead, and he knew, also that Beverly’s brother was at school there, but Jefferson did not possess an analytical mind: It could not out-run Apache. He knew, however, that he must put up a pretty good bluff if he wished to save his kinky scalp upon his return to Leslie Manor, so he set about planning to “hand out dat fool ’oman a corker.” Moreover, Petty was inclined to take the situation seriously. Petty was sweetly romantic, but stupidly literal. At times a hopeless combination. The riding party had cantered along in the fleeing Beverly’s wake for a little more than a mile when Petty spied the hat upon the bush. Nothing further was needed to confirm her misgivings.

“She has been run away with, girls! She has! I think it’s perfectly awful not to ride faster. She may be lying on the road d-e-a-d-!”

By this time Jefferson thought it might be politic to manifest more concern, so throwing a well-assimilated anxiety into voice and manner he said hastily:

“Now you fo’ yo’ng ladies jist come ’long careful an’ orderly, so’s not ter bring no mo’ trebbulations, ’pon us an’ I’ll light out fer dat run-way. Ma Lawd, I’se been clar distracted fer de las’ ten minutes fer ter know which-a-way ter tu’n! I aint really believe Miss Bev’ly is in no danger ’twell Miss Petty done got me so sympathizin’, but now I’se shore rattled an’ I’se gwin’ ter find out fer sartin. Come on yo’ Jumbo! Wo’k yo’ laigs fer fair,” and under touch of the spur the big horse broke into a gait which bade fair to speedily overhand the scapegraces, providing Jefferson let him do so.

A turn in the road simplified the problem.

“Now don’ yo’ tak ter sweatin’ yo’self so’s I has ter spend a hull hour a-coolin’ yo’ down,” admonished Jefferson when well out of sight. “We’ll git there, an’ when we does we’ll mak’ one fair show down,” and thereupon Jefferson restrained his steed to a long swinging run which told off the miles without making him turn a hair until Kilton Hall was in sight. Then the dusky actor and his mount prepared to make their spectacular entrÉ. Pulling up at the roadside Jefferson threw his cap upon the ground, twisted his tie awry, and let fly the belt of his riding blouse, then dismounting, he caught up a few handfuls of dust and promptly transformed big bay Jumbo into as disreputable looking a horse as dust rubbed upon his muzzle, his chest and his warm moist flanks could transform him. It was this likely pair which came pounding across the athletic field of Kilton Hall at the moment of Mr. Ford’s question, the human of the species, with eyes rolling until they were nearly all whites, shouting as he drew near:

“My Lawd-a-mighty, Miss Bev’ly, is yo’ hu’t? Is yo’ daid?”

It was a good enough bit of acting to have won the actor fame and fortune. As a matter of fact, Beverly gave one glance at the fly-away figure, then clasping both arms around Apache’s neck, buried her face in his mane and to all intents and purposes collapsed into a paroxysm of tears, to the entire dismay of Mr. Cushman, and the skeptical “sizing up” of the situation by Mr. Ford, more lately from the campus. It was Athol who promptly turned a few handsprings behind their backs and Archie who rolled over upon the grass chortling.

“Don’t be alarmed! Don’t be alarmed, my good man. Your young lady is none the worse for her involuntary run (just here a distinct snort came from the ground behind Mr. Cushman) though I dare say a little unstrung and exhausted. But we stopped her mount (“yes you did!” came sotto voce from Athol) and now we will lead your mistress back to the house where Mrs. Kilton will be delighted to minister to her comfort. Are you too nervous to ride to the rear entrance, Miss Ashby?” for during the few words spoken Mr. Cushman had discovered that this was Athol Ashby’s sister, had the resemblance left any doubt of that fact.

Beverly resumed an upright position, hastily wiped away her tears, (one can laugh as well as weep them) and answered:

“Oh, no sir. Of course I was a little startled at first, but Apache is never vicious, and it was only the need of exercise which made us—him—bolt, you know.”

The acrobat came to an upright position and very nearly upset the whole show.

Meantime Jefferson with many flutterings and gesticulations, had dismounted and managed to work his way to Archie’s side and whisper:

“Don’t yo’ let on, will yo’ suh?”

“Not on your sweet life. It’s the best ever. But where’s the rest of the bunch? There must be some. You always take out a full fledged seminary.”

“Praise Gawd der aint but fo’ dis time, an’ dey’s yander on de pike some—’ers. But I’se near scared blue.”

“Gray, you mean. Keep cool. I’ll fix it all right. Oh, Mr. Cushman the groom had to leave the other young ladies back yonder on the road and he’s a good bit upset about it. Hadn’t he better ride back to them? They’ll be scared blue you know.”

“Certainly. Certainly. By all means. Return to them at once. This young lady will be carefully looked after,” and Jefferson lost no time in going.

“You’d better bring the whole outfit—I—er—I mean you’d better bring the other young ladies to the Hall,” called Mr. Ford, deciding that if Beverly was a sample of the Leslie Manor girls it would be just as well to see more of the material. Had he caught the sudden flash in Archie’s eyes perhaps he would have grown a bit wiser.

Twenty minutes later all five girls were seated in Mrs. Kilton’s cozy living room, the boys, and the instructors who had shifted into drawing-room garments in record time, serving hot chocolate and little iced cakes.

As they were not expected home until five anyway there was no cause for concern. There would be no alarm at Leslie Manor. Meanwhile Jefferson, who had looked after the horses, was holding the floor in the servant’s quarters. If a report of that afternoon’s experiences did reach Leslie Manor he meant to have first scoop.

After an hour spent very delightfully, for Mr. Ford was attention itself to Beverly, to Archie’s ill-concealed disgust, Hope MacLeod advised a move toward home. As they were about to start Beverly asked sweetly:

“Oh, dear Mrs. Kilton, would you mind if Athol showed me his room? You know we have never before in all our lives been separated and I get so homesick for him and his traps it just seems as though I couldn’t stand it.”

“Why of course you may go up, my dear,” smiled kindly Mrs. Kilton. She was too wholesome to see the least impropriety in so simple a request.

“Oh, hold on a second, Ath. Keep her a minute until I rush up and stow a few of our duds. We didn’t stop to slick things up when we shifted,” and Archie bounded away.

“Come on now, Bev. I reckon he’s had time to make Number 70 presentable,” said Athol three minutes later, and the brother and sister went demurely from the room.