“No, no!” he replied, in a voice husky with emotion; “my place is out on the perarer thar. I shouldn’t be happy in the settlements; thar may be more work for me to do. No; but I thank you for your kind offers, and shall not forget them. Good-by. I didn’t ever think my eyes would be wet agin,” and he turned as if to depart.
“Waltermyer, my kind friend—”
It was the voice of the young bride, and he turned again:
“Waal, Miss?”
“I am going to ask a favor of you.”
“A favor of me? Waal, you shall have it. Ask me for any thing in natur’, just my life even, and it’s yours.”
“Will you take care of my horse until I return?”
“Will I?” and a smile brightened his bronze face. “Will I? Would a bee stop to suck honey from a clover-top? But you don’t mean to part with him for good? You can’t mean that?”
“We are going on a long journey, you know. Some one must take charge of him until our return. You will not refuse me?”
A shrill whistle was his only answer. Both horses came, forming a striking contrast. Snow-Drift, with his snowy skin and silver mane, and the black, with his banner-like tail, the white spot shining in his forehead like a crystal star.