The Honorable Percival

								

and comely in its khaki suit and brown leggings. Her black mane was
braided in two short, thick plaits with a dash of scarlet ribbons at the
ends. Blue eyes, full of daring, danced under the blackest of brows, and
the smile she flashed at her companion revealed a dimple of distracting
proportions.
As Percival gazed he was quite oblivious of the fact that the laugh
was at his expense. In fact, he accorded her darting glances a far
more flattering interpretation, and when her escort dismounted, and
disappeared within the station, he deliberately caught her eye and held
it. There was a touch of daring in her face and figure, an evident sense
of security in the fact that the train was already beginning to move. He
shifted his position from the end of the platform to the side next the
station, and she met the challenge by gathering up her reins and keeping
pace with the slow-moving train.
For a short distance road and track lay parallel, and as the train
slowly got under way, the bronco was put to a run. Side by side, not
ten feet apart, Percival and the girl moved abreast, their eyes keeping
company. He had never seen anything so vitally young and untrammeled
as she was. She rode superbly, like an Indian, leaning well forward,
gripping the bronco with her knees, with one hand grasping his mane.
Every muscle was tense with life, every nerve a-quiver with glee.
Before the young Englishman knew it, his own sluggish blood was stirring
in his veins through sympathy. Then the train began to gain upon her,
and throwing herself back in the saddle, she shook a vanquished head.
As Percival raised his cap she wheeled her horse, and, standing in the
stirrups, blew an audacious kiss from her finger-tips. The next instant
she was dashing away across the wide, bleak prairies, the only living
thing in sight, her scarlet ribbons a streak of color in the dull-gray
landscape.
Percival had taken heart of grace from that airy kiss. It stood to him
as a symbol that, though one of the sex had proved a deserter to his
standard, there were still volunteers. He treasured the incident as a
king treasures the homage of his humblest subject when rebellion is rife
in the kingdom. On such trifles often hang one's self-esteem.
When the stir and bustle on deck became so lively that he was no longer
able to indulge in introspection, he got up and indifferently joined the
moving throng. The warning had sounded for those going ashore, and the
numerous gangways were crowded. Passengers lined the promenade-deck,
shouting and waving to the crowd on the wharf below. From the
bridge-deck the captain could be heard cheerfully swearing through a
megaphone at the second officer below. Chinese deck-stewards glided
about in their felt slippers, trying to attach the right person to the
right steamer-chair. Cabin-boys scurried about with baskets of fruit and
flowers and other sea-going impedimenta that, after one appreciative