“Don’t interrupt Mother,” warned Constance, always a little doubtful of the outbreaks of the fly-away.
Hadyn Stuyvesant had not only approved the name, but was delighted with the idea, and vowed from thenceforth to guard his “lady fair.” So “Champion” he was from that moment on, and, long as the name was, it had clung. The three years had not lessened Jean’s love for him or his devotion to her.
As Constance descended the stairs in quest of Jean she met Mammy at the foot.
“Is yo’ Ma up in her room, Baby?” she asked.
“Yes, Mammy, and just finishing the marketing list. Have you seen Jean? It is high time she started for school.”
“Dat’s de livin’ truf, an’ it’s what I done tol’ her a’reddy, but she boun’ ter go out yonder to see dat hawse.”
“Then I’m bound to go out yonder after her,” laughed Constance, as she ran briskly down the hall, passed through the door which led to the piazza and opened upon the lawn. There was no sign of Jean, but Constance crossed the velvety turf to the stable at the further side of the grounds, passing on her way the candy kitchen, and calling cheerily to Mary Willing, who was already busy within: “Polly’s got her kettle on for our candee,” to be promptly answered by: “Yes, and it’s a-boiling, if you will come and see.”
“Good! I will be there in just a minute. I’m hunting for Jean.” A moment later she turned the corner of the stable and came upon Jean and Old Baltie.
To say that Old Baltie had become almost human during the four years spent in this home conveys very little idea of the mutual understanding existing between him and his friends, Jean and Mammy were, of course, his joint owners; but since his marriage to Mammy, Charles also claimed ownership. No one would have recognized the old horse for the one rescued by Jean. His coat was now as sleek as satin, his old body round and plump, his manners those of a thoroughly spoiled thoroughbred horse. It had not required all the four years spent with the Carruths to blot out the effects of Jabe’s harsh treatment, or to revive in Baltie the memory of his earlier days as Grandfather Raulsbury’s pet. The interval in which he had fallen upon evil days had vanished as an ugly dream, and with nobility’s inherent qualities, whether manifested in man or beast, he had dismissed the memory, risen above it, and with all of his noblesse oblige was helping others to do likewise.
His wonderfully attuned ears were quick to catch the sound of Constance’s footfalls upon the soft turf, and he greeted her with a stifled nicker, for his position made a gentlemanly greeting well-nigh impossible: he was lying at full length upon a bed of sweet clover, his head in Jean’s lap. These two were never in the positions or situations of their kind if they could possibly achieve others.