“Go where, Peter?” It was Deborah’s voice, clear and disapproving.
But the other children were all crowding round Ruth. “Tell us the story, too, won’t you, please?” they demanded. “What is a cow-puncher, and where do they get such funny names?”
“Oh, Lord, Rose, they don’t know what a cow-puncher is,” Ruth remarked, looking toward her sister in astonishment.
“Tell you what,” proposed Rose, who was getting rather tired of the solemn tea, “let’s go outdoors and find a horse and show them some tricks. Have any of you got a pony?”
“There’s the doctor’s nag,” said Peter, eagerly. “He’s nothing very much, but he has more life in him than a sedan chair—which is the horse most used hereabouts.”
“Come on then,” said Rose, getting to her feet. It was easy to see that Deborah objected. But then she was curious—and with a cautious glance between the curtains, which had been dropped by the maid so that the card playing ladies might not be distracted by the playfulness of the young people, she followed the bunch of boys and girls, who were pressing after Peter, Rose, and Ruth in no small excitement.
Peter led them up the neat and narrow street, where one or two passers-by stared at the children in amazement. For they were chattering at the top of their voices, and laughing in the most unrestrained manner over the reminiscences of Ruth and Rose, who, delighted at so appreciative an audience, raked up all the old cowboy yarns they could recollect, and told them with fervour.
Just as Rose concluded a description of a round-up in the heyday of range life, a description she had heard a hundred times from old Windy Bob, who had cooked for her father’s outfit during several years, they reached a peaceful, grassy meadow, gay with golden buttercups. In the midst of this meadow a small horse was grazing.
“There he is,” announced Peter.
“Is there a saddle and bridle?”