It was a low brick building, matching the house in style. From their comfortable stalls the sober old carriage horses gazed placidly out.
Blue Bonnet went to stroke them. “They’re just like Grandmother’s,” she laughed.
“Oh, we’re a good deal alike here in Woodford,” Alec said, “we ‘first families,’ that is. Of course our horses aren’t all the same color, any more than our houses are; but they’ve all reached about the same state of lazy well-being. But look here!” He turned to another stall.
Blue Bonnet gave a quick exclamation of pleasure and reached out a hand to smooth the glossy head turned towards her. “Oh, he is a beauty!” she cried. “What’s his name?”
“Victor,” Alec moved nearer, and the horse with a low whinny of welcome sniffed expectantly at his pocket.
“I’ve your sugar, all right, old fellow,” the boy said, holding out a couple of lumps.
“I reckon he goes well?” Blue Bonnet said.
“Like the wind.”
“You like that?” the girl asked.
“I certainly do. I’d let you try him some day, only I don’t know whether he’d stand skirts—he’s got a pretty spirit of his own.”