Jenks, turning to Lucy. “Sam, meet Miss Lucy Watson of Felix. She has come to sojourn awhile with us.”

“Right glad to meet you,” said Sam, somewhat shyly.

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” replied Lucy.

“Sam, will you saddle two horses for us? I’m taking Miss Watson up to Denmeade’s,” interposed Mr. Jenks.

“Shore will, teacher,” rejoined Sam, and moved away with sidelong glance at Lucy.

“Have you any riding clothes?” inquired Mr. Jenks, as if suddenly reminded of something important.

“Yes. I was careful not to forget outdoor things,” replied Lucy.

“Good! I’ll carry your grips to my tent where you can change. Of course we’ll have to leave your baggage here until we interview Denmeade. If all goes well it can be packed up to-night.”

The interior of Mr. Jenks’s abode was vastly more prepossessing than the exterior. It was such an attractive little place that Lucy decided she wanted one similar to it, for the summer at least. The furnishings included a comfortable-looking cot, a washstand with mirror above, a table, books, lamp, and pictures. Several skins, notably a long grey furry one she took to have belonged to the lion Mr. Jenks had mentioned, served as rugs for the rude board floor. A picture of a sweet, sad-looking woman occupied a prominent place. Lucy wondered if she was his wife.

It did not take her many minutes to get into her riding clothes. Fortunately they had seen a service which now appeared likely to serve her in good stead. At normal school Lucy had ridden horseback once a week, and felt that she was not altogether a tenderfoot. Finding her gauntlets, she had the forethought to pack her travelling suit, so that in case she remained at Denmeade’s her baggage could be sent for. Then, with a last and not unsatisfied glance at herself in the mirror, she sallied forth from the tent, keen for this next stage of her adventure.

A glossy, spirited little bay pony stood there saddled and bridled, champing his bit. Another horse, dusty and shaggy, large in build and very bony, was haltered to the hitching rail near by. Mr. Jenks was lacing something on the saddle of the smaller horse. Sam Johnson lounged beside him and the other fellow had approached. He did not appear so tall or so lean as young Johnson.

Lucy felt uncertain how these backwoodsmen would take her rather trim and natty riding suit, but as she knew she looked well it gave her no great concern. She had made up her mind to win the liking of all these people, if possible.

“What a pretty pony!” she exclaimed. “Am I to ride him, Mr. Jenks?”

“Yes—if you can,” returned the teacher dubiously as he looked up from his task. “I assure you he is no pony, but a very mettlesome mustang.”

“Aw, teacher, Buster’s as gentle as a lamb,” protested Sam. Then, indicating his companion by a sweep of his long arm, he said, “Miss Lucy, this here is my cousin, Gerd Claypool.”

Lucy had to give her hand to the brown-faced young man, for he had extended a great paw.