But
young people refuse to profit by the experience of their elders,
and sometimes the elders are the ones to suffer.
I was much used up the day after the fire, and Gertrude insisted
on my going out. The machine was temporarily out of commission,
and the carriage horses had been sent to a farm for the summer.
Gertrude finally got a trap from the Casanova liveryman, and we
went out. Just as we turned from the drive into the road we
passed a woman. She had put down a small valise, and stood
inspecting the house and grounds minutely. I should
hardly have noticed her, had it not been for the fact that she
had been horribly disfigured by smallpox.
"Ugh!" Gertrude said, when we had passed, "what a face! I shall
dream of it to-night. Get up, Flinders."
"Flinders?" I asked. "Is that the horse's name?"
"It is." She flicked the horse's stubby mane with the whip. "He
didn't look like a livery horse, and the liveryman said he had
bought him from the Armstrongs when they purchased a couple of
motors and cut down the stable. Nice Flinders--good old boy!"
Flinders was certainly not a common name for a horse, and yet the
youngster at Richfield had named his prancing, curly-haired
little horse Flinders! It set me to thinking.
At my request Halsey had already sent word of the fire to the
agent from whom we had secured the house. Also, he had called
Mr. Jamieson by telephone, and somewhat guardedly had told him of
the previous night's events.
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