She knew that the mare was gentle, and she had often petted her, and fed her, and led her to water. She did not much doubt but that Phœbe would submit to be saddled and bridled by her hand, but still it was with many a misgiving that she put on her hat and jacket. She did not take time to find her habit, and, lighting the lantern, went out to the barn.
Phœbe was not lying down. Disturbed, perhaps, by the loud-blowing wind, she was wide awake; and as Fayette entered with the light, she turned her head with a low whinny, as though glad to see a friend.
Fayette went into the stall in fear and trembling; but she loosened the halter, and led Phœbe out unresisting.
The mare was so tall, and Fayette was so short, that she was obliged to stand up on a box to slip on the bridle; to which Phœbe submitted, turning her soft, intelligent eyes on the girl with mild, wondering inquiry. The saddle was harder to manage, but Fayette strained at the girth till her wrists ached, and hoped all was right.
Some faint encouragement came to her, as she saw how gently the mare behaved. “O, Phœbe, darling,” said Fayette, “you will be good—I know you will. You are the only one that can help us now.”
Petted Phœbe, used to caresses as a house cat, rubbed her dainty head on Fayette’s shoulder, as if to reassure her.
Poor Fayette put up one brief wordless prayer for help and courage, and then she led Phœbe out of the stable, mounted her by the aid of the horse-block, and rode away into the night.
Sue, watching forlorn, heard the mare’s hoofs beating fainter down the road; and relieved that at least Fayette had got off without accident, listened till the last sound died away on the wind.
CHAPTER II.
IT was a wild March night. The wind blew loud and cold, though there was in the air a faint breath of spring, and the brooks were coming down with fuller currents every hour to swell the Susquehanna. There had been heavy rains for the last few days, and the roads were deeply gullied, and somewhat dangerous by night.