It really was wonderful,—so wonderful that not a sound was heard save the strains of the music and the unbroken “pat-pat” of those rhythmic hoof-beats. But when the fourth circuit was completed, and waving the soft reins which her childish hands seemed too small to hold, Steenie stood up in her wagon behind the eight now motionless horses, a cheer went forth that dwarfed all which had gone before, and that caused actual tears to dim the vision of happy Kentucky Bob.
“Ah, ha! my Little Un! you done me proud! I can gin up livin’ now! There’ll never be nothin’ better ’n that sight fer these blamed watery eyes! Not a fail, not a break-step, not a nothin’, but jest cl’ar bewitchments!”
“There you spoke. Nothing but a witch-bairn, yet the bonniest this earth ever saw!” chimed in the Scotch gardener.
“Are you glad, dear Bob?”
“Glad? I’m heart-broke! I—I—Oh, my Little Un! you wouldn’t go fer to leave San’ Felisy after this, would you?”
“Hark! the prizes! That queer little Englishman ’ll bust his b’iler soon if somebody don’t pay heed to him! He’s a dancin’ a reg’lar jig over there to catch our ’tention. I ’low you’ll have to be took to him, Miss Steenie!” cried Tony Miller.
“An’ I’m the man ’at’ll do it!” responded her proud instructor, as, swinging his small pupil to her accustomed place on his broad shoulder, he strode away toward Lord Plunkett’s bench.
“Hm-m! Gives pleasure! Clever—wonderful! Prize—won it! Eh? What? Everybody?”
“Huckleberries! Won it—of—course! Knew she would!”
Stooping low, Steenie extended her hand eagerly for the purse outstretched toward her, and for a moment a revulsion of feeling swept over the donor’s heart. For the sake of the reward, then? So mercenary, was she?