In fine order they reached the further end of the long building, marched around its rear, and came upon what Dorothy thought was a most beautiful sight. Within the wide paddock, or corral, as these westerners called it, was a small herd of young, thoroughbred horses. From a little stand outside the paling, Mr. and Mrs. Ford were watching the handsome creatures and talking with the grooms that attended them, concerning their good, and possibly, bad qualities.
But at the sound of the approaching “squad” Lady Gray turned an eager face and called out, reprovingly:
“Oh! my dears, how slow you have been! If I were your age and had been promised a horse for my very own, I shouldn’t have tarried on the way!”
“Our very own? What do you mean, dear Mrs. Ford?” asked Dorothy, hastening to bid her tardy “Good morning,” before she more than glanced across the fence.
“Just what I say, dear. Mr. Ford has had eight horses brought in for you young folks to use. Each is to make a choice for herself or himself, subject to change if any necessity for it. Your choice is to be your own property and I hope will give you lots of pleasure. Captain Lem and some of the other good horsemen will teach you anything you need to know. Why, my dears! How astonished you look! Didn’t you understand? Didn’t Leslie tell you?”
For, indeed, surprise had kept them silent. None had guessed of having a horse of her “own,” supposing from Leslie’s words that they were only to have the loan of an animal during their stay at San Leon. Alfaretta broke the silence, explaining:
“No, he didn’t say any such thing. He said we was to come choose horses to ride, and when he said one was white I picked that out at once. I—can’t really believe you mean it, Mrs. Ford, though—course—Ma Babcock—I never heard o’ such folks—never—never—in my life. It certainly does beat the Dutch. I—Alfy Babcock—Dolly Doodles—Jolly Molly—Helena—to have horses of our own—it makes me cry! I, Alfy Babcock, ownin’ a whole horse! Oh! My!”
“Then I shall be very, very sorry the idea ever entered my husband’s mind, of making such a gift. We don’t want tears—we just want happiness, perfect happiness, up here at San Leon!” said beautiful Gray Lady, smiling, and looking fairer than ever in this new delight of making gifts, as freely as she wished. Her own life had grown so much happier, these last months, that she longed only to “pass on” happiness to all whom she knew. Alfy’s tears really hurt her, for a moment, till Dolly explained, with an arm about the weeper’s waist:
“I reckon these must be what I’ve heard of as ‘happy tears,’ dear Lady Gray. Alfy is too pleased to do anything else—even to say ‘thank you’—yet.”
Queer little Alfy had dropped her head on Dorothy’s shoulder and was repeating in a low tone: