“Perhaps we shall find Lady,” suggested Rose. But Mr. Freeman shook his head.
“I’m afraid it will be a long time before we get any news of her,” he said soberly. “I only hope the thief will not abuse her.” The brown horse had always been petted and made much of, and neither Mr. Freeman nor Rose could bear to think of her in the hands of people who would not be kind to her.
Every now and then Anne would take off the plaited straw hat and look at it with admiring eyes. “I shall not have to buy a hat now, Rose,” she said.
“But you will want a prettier one than that,” responded her friend.
“A prettier hat!” Anne’s tone seemed to say that she could not imagine a prettier hat, and she shook her head. “I sha’n’t ever want any other hat,” she declared. “I mean to keep this always because Aunt Anne Rose gave it to me.”
The black colt sped along as if it was nothing but play to pull the big chaise. The girls told Mr. Freeman of all that Aunt Anne Rose had said about the big farm, and of her own loneliness when her husband and sons were away. Rose noticed that, although her father listened, his glance traveled sharply over the pastures as they went along; and that now and then he leaned out for a clearer view of some horse feeding near the road, and she realized that he was keeping an outlook for Lady.
But there was no sign of the pretty brown horse, and Mr. Freeman’s inquiries at houses and in villages along the way did not give him any news of Lady. There was so much for Anne to see and think about that she hardly realized what a serious loss had befallen her good friends. But as they drove down Long-acre Street, past Boston Common, and turned into the street where the Freemans’ house stood, she saw that Rose and Mr. Freeman both looked very downcast.
“What will mother say?” Rose half whispered, as if to herself.
Mrs. Freeman was at the door to welcome them.