who she was and what she meant to do. He soon
found out, for presently she set out along the fence
and came to a stop directly in front of him. She
did more. She held out a hand and sounded a
single word softly.

"Pat!" she called.

And now something took place inside the colt.
With the word, far back in his brain, in the remotest
of cells, there came an effort for freedom.
It was a grim struggle, no doubt, for the thing
must fight its way against almost all other thoughts
and scenes and persons in his memory. But at
length this vague memory gained momentum and
dominance. And now he understood. The young
woman outside the fence was his little mistress
of early days! Lifting his head, he gave off a
shrill and protracted nicker of greeting.

Helen dropped her hand. "Bless you!" she
cried, and sped along the fence, opened the
gate, and ran inside. "You do know me, don't
you?" she burst out, and, hurrying to his side,
hugged him convulsively. "And I'm so glad,
Pat!" she went on. "It -- it has been a long three
years!" She stepped back and looked him over
admiringly. "And you have grown so! Dear,
oh, dear! Three years!" Again she stepped close
and hugged him. "I am so proud of you, Pat!"

All this love-talk, this caressing and hugging,
was as the lifting of a veil to Pat. Within him all
that had lain dormant for three years -- affection,
desires, life itself -- now pressed eagerly to the
surface. And though his mistress did not look

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v?