“I forgot to say,” observed Mr. Carson in his slow way, “that there will be two little horses. They were a pair and the man didn’t want to sell them singly. So the second one is for Jim.”
“No!” cried Jim, and his voice sounded almost defiant in his excitement.
“Yes!” cried Mr. Carson, mocking him. “Shake hands on it.” And he wrung Jim’s hand in his own. Then the boy’s shyness came on him and made him slip away in the darkness. Yet he was on hand to hold the horses when the Carsons were ready to mount.
They rode away in the moonlight, with the bewitching world of cloud and shine about them. The trees were transformed into enchanted silver things amid which elves and dryads seemed to hide; the rushing water was a torrent of dancing crystal where the water maidens played. The three who rode away, went singing. But this time it was a song that Azalea did not know. She said so to Ma McBirney with a troubled smile.
“What a lovely, lovely song! And I never so much as heard it before.”
Ma McBirney kissed her slowly, and said with meaning:
“But you see, Zalie, they are going to teach it to you.”
Azalea did not answer. She lighted her candle.
“’Night, Jim,” she called. “You couldn’t get rid of me, could you?”
“Could if I tried. Didn’t try.”