"I suppose horses are not quite like people," she returned thoughtfully. "They like those who are good to them."
"Well—they're grateful, and as a general thing appreciate kind treatment. Humans don't always do that."
She had not gone very far in the philosophy of ingratitude, but she was wondering if the pony had been very fond of his mistress.
"This place was the handiest. Then he can go cropping the tufts of grass about here, and we shall not have to lug the feed up on the next round," viewing the sort of natural terraces with a squint in one eye. "I'm sorry about the posies."
"Oh, well—they grow so easily. And here was the spruce tree, and, oh, we ought to have a big veranda to the house, where we could sit and sew and I could study lessons and we could have supper."
"But the place isn't really mine, you know. And I shouldn't want to spend a great deal of money. Some day we may have a house in which we can truly settle ourselves."
Miss Holmes, who had been looking on, smiled now. "The Señora Estenega is very anxious to sell," she said.
"And it is so splendid all around. There are trees and trees and they are full of birds. Oh, you never heard such singing. And the flowers! Why, I wanted to dance all around the paths for very gladness. But it was dull and dark inside, and full of ugly portraits and Virgins and hideous babies."
"They wouldn't want to sell the pictures, they are old family relics," appended Miss Holmes.
"And she asks a fortune for the estate. These old Spanish people have caught on to values mighty quick. But a house for the pony is as much as we can compass now. In a few years you shall have a home to your liking."