“Oh, what shall we do?  She’ll surely be killed.  She’ll be dragged from her horse.  Her dress has caught on the gate,” cried Cousin Lulu with her heart in her mouth.

Beth let go the reins and held with one hand to the saddle pommel, and with the other to Dollie’s mane.  This saved her.  Her skirt tore loose from the gate.  Onward flew horse and child.

Cousin Lulu and her escort hastened after through the driveway.  Far ahead of them they saw Dollie and Beth flying towards the race track with lightning speed.

Mr. Davenport chanced to come from the Fair building at this very minute.

“Oh, Uncle James,” screamed Lulu, “Dollie is running away with Beth.”

He hardly understood, but saw the runaway horse now nearing the race track and hastened after it.

With the long memory of a horse, Dollie recognized the track as a scene of bygone triumphs, and made straight for it.  No rider urged her on as of old, no rivals were by her side; but Dollie of her own accord started around that course at a breakneck speed with a little girl clinging wildly to her mane.

People were already gathering on the grandstand and they held their breath for very fear, Beth held hers also.  Dollie needed all of her breath for her solitary run.  On, on, she flew.  Beth clung closer, while people sprang to their feet in their anxiety over the outcome.

By this time Beth was hatless.  Her long curls and the clumsy torn skirt were flying backwards.

On, on they came.  People leaned far over the stand.  Jockeys ran out on the track.  One of them cried enthusiastically: 

“It is a beautiful run if only the little one isn’t killed.”

Dollie in truth was making a wonderful run for a horse that had no competition.  With long swinging strides she came around the track, and her speed remained unabated.  If people had not been so fearful for the child’s life, some one might have thought to time Dollie, and it is very probable that it would then have been proved that she was fully equaling her record if she was not breaking it.

Mr. Davenport ran up the track in an agony of fear, ready to head off the runaway animal if it seemed advisable.  The jockeys followed in his wake.

“That is the child’s father.  How terrible it must be for him,” said some of the spectators.

Dollie’s speed remained unabated.

When she was three-quarters of the way around, Mr. Davenport was almost within hailing distance of his brave little girl who still clung to the excited horse.

Mr. Davenport was undecided whether to try to stop the horse or not, for fear a sudden stop might unseat his child.

Beth saw her father and grew excited.

“Oh, papa,” she cried, taking her hand from the pommel to wave it to him.

The action came near being fatal.  Dollie was making the curve.  Beth swayed, and Mr. Davenport and many another spectator shuddered, fearing she would be dashed to death.  She, however, proved a better rider than they expected.  She was growing accustomed to the rapid motion of the horse, and gained confidence thereby.  She straightened herself, clinging with one hand and gathering up the reins that had been hanging loose, with the other.  Then she pulled on them again, crying: