"I've got to," she whispered to him, "for being a pig!"
Dick did not understand anything of this; boy-like, he rather fancied that Merle was offering him her pony to show off his perfections. It would have interested him more to ride Agility; but, being as good-natured as he was dense in these fine matters, he got up on Olaf good temperedly, and had to admit that he was a far more finished hack than his previous mount. Merle looked pleased at his praise.
"He is lovely, isn't he?" she asked. "Daddy bought him at the Perth show; he's won lots of prizes. He and I are awful good mates."
"I'm sure you are," Dick said. "Jolly good of you to let me ride him."
Across the grass Mr. Warner had suddenly gaped in astonishment.
"Well, I'm blessed!" he ejaculated to his wife. "I believe Merle is repenting in style; she's actually put Dick on Olaf. That's in amends for the ride he might have had on old Sergeant, I suppose!"
"Making amends isn't much in Merle's line," said Merle's mother.
"No, so I suppose we should be thankful for any sign of grace. At least, they seem happy enough now--look at them!"
Two small figures on galloping horses dipped down into a grassy hollow, flashed up again on the further side, made for a big log ahead, flew it together, and fled on again across the plain at full speed.
"That's all right," said Mrs. Warner, comfortably. "They can't possibly be bad friends now."
"No. But isn't it characteristic of Merle that although even the fact that he'd saved Bobby's life didn't make her treat him decently, she's reduced to penitence and friendliness by nearly giving him a ride on a bad horse!"
A week went by, and the Lesters found themselves dropping so completely into the life of the western station that it might almost have seemed to be their own home. They applied insistently for work, and got it; Dick and his father were constantly out on the run with Mr. Warner and his men, while Mrs. Lester lent a willing hand within the house, plying a busy needle at Mrs. Warner's perennially overflowing mending basket, and, by way of recreation, embroidering linen smocks for the twinses.
"They'd be happier in sugar bags!" said their father, looking at the dainty garments.
"But I wouldn't get any fun out of sugar bags," protested Mrs. Lester. "It's mere selfishness!"