“They’d make it lovely!” she beamed. “Silver Moons would be splendid all over these pillars, and Lady Gays on the side piazza. Mrs. Jocelyn has an elegant Silver Moon, roses as big as that,”—curving her fingers into as wide a circle as they could compass,—“just single white, with great yellow anthers—oh, they’re beautiful! I wish your uncle would get some. Why don’t you ask him, David?”
“You may,” he evaded.
“I believe you don’t dare,” Polly cried. “David Collins, are you afraid of him yet? Why, I don’t see how you can be, he is so nice.”
The lad laughed. “I suppose I can’t quite get over those years I stood in such awe of him,” he confessed. “But,” he added, “he’s fine; nobody could be finer.”
“Polly was telling me the other day,” put in Patricia, “about the time she and Colonel Gresham chased after Dr. Dudley for you. I wish I could have seen Lone Star go.”
“There! I haven’t had a glimpse of Lone Star for a week!” Polly broke out. “Is he in the stable, David? Let’s go and see him!”
Away they raced, to visit the famous trotter, and to feed him with bread and butter and sugar which David begged from the cook. They were still petting the affectionate animal when Colonel Gresham walked in.
“Ah, I’ve caught you!” he growled. “Now I know what makes my horse have indigestion!”
Patricia, looking a bit scared, stopped short in her feeding; but Lone Star nosed down to the piece of bread in her hand.