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"Date! Did you have to scare Auntie and me out of our wits just for that?"
"Who scared you? This is important, Lucy. What's the date?"
"It's a week to-day since last Tuesday," answered Lucy, sweetly.
"Huh! Then it's Tuesday again," said Bostil, laboriously writing it down.
"Now, what's the date?"
"Don't you remember?"
"Remember? I never knew."
"Dad! . . . Last Tuesday was my birthday--the day you DID NOT give me a
horse!"
"Aw, so it was," rejoined Bostil, confused at her reproach. "An' thet date
was--let's see--April sixth. . . . Then this is April thirteenth. Much
obliged, Lucy. Run back to your aunt now. This hoss talk won't interest you."
Lucy tossed her head. "I'll bet I'll have to straighten out the whole thing."
Then with a laugh she disappeared.
"Three days beginnin--say June first. June first--second, an' third. How about
thet for the races?"
Everybody agreed, and Bostil laboriously wrote that down. Then they planned
the details. Purses and prizes, largely donated by Bostil and Muncie, the rich
members of the community, were recorded.


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