"But we must not always stay here," said the practical woman. "We must go home, must not we, Prince?" addressing the horse, which had stood quietly watching the lovers, and occasionally looking about him.
"You have changed his name?" said Bart.
"Yes. You see he is your horse, and I called him Prince Arthur the very day I received him, which was the day your letter came. I call him Prince. He is a prince—and so is his namesake," she added, playfully pulling his moustache. "You don't like that?" said Bart; "the moustache? I can cut it away in a moment."
"I do like it, and you must not cut it away. Stand out there, and let me have a good look at you; please turn your eyes away from me—there so."
"You find me changed," he said, "and I find you more lovely than ever," rushing back to her.
"You spoilt my view, sir."
"You will see enough of me," he said, gaily.
"You are changed," she went on, "but I like you better. Now, sir, here is your horse. I deliver you, Prince, to your true lord and master; and you must love him, and serve him truly."
"And I have already dedicated you to your lady and mistress," said
Bart, "and you must forever serve her."
"And the first thing you do, will be to carry Wilder down to my dear mother, with a letter—how blessed and happy she will be!—asking her to send up a carriage—unless you have one somewhere?"