“Oh, where are you going to take him, please?” asked Jean, her concern for the horse overcoming her embarrassment at her novel situation.
“I’m afraid he will have to be sent to the pound, little one, for no one will claim him.”
“Is that the place where they kill them? Must Baltie be killed?” Her voice was full of tears.
“Unless someone can be found who will care for him for the rest of his numbered days. I’m afraid it is the best and most merciful fate for him,” was the gentle answer.
“How long may he stay there without being killed? Until maybe somebody can be found to take him.”
“He may stay there one week. But now we must move along. Fasten the horse’s halter to the back of my wagon, men, and I’ll see to it that he is comfortable to-night anyway.”
The halter rope was tied, and the strange procession started slowly back toward Riveredge.
[CHAPTER IV—Baltie is Rescued]
“How old are you, little lassie?” asked Hadyn Stuyvesant, looking down upon the little figure beside him, his fine eyes alive with interest and the smile which none could resist lighting his face, and displaying his white even teeth.
“I’m just a little over ten,” answered Jean, looking up and answering his smile with one equally frank and trustful, for little Jean Carruth did not understand the meaning of embarrassment.