But she, flushing with girlish surprise at his ready gallantry, which showed how completely the little mountain boy had been lost in the cultured man, drew back once more and with equal quick wit said, laughing:
“You will certainly find it has, and in good, substantial material if you try to take my weight in your hand.”
“The same mill has ground out for me an adequate amount of muscle,” he declared, adding with a hint of pleading in his voice, “You must let me renew old times,” and without further protest she lightly touched his hand with her foot as she sprang from the pony’s back.
“Weight doesn’t count with so light a touch as that,” laughed Steve, and started to lead the pony into the stable, when a coloured boy stepped up to care for it.
“You see we keep a groom these days,” said Nancy.
“Yes; what style the mountains are taking on,” returned Steve, as Nancy gathered up the long skirt of her riding habit, and the two walked together through the grass to the porch.
“To what an astonishing height you have grown,” said she with naive charm, looking up at him.
“You have done equally well,” he returned, measuring with his eye her slender length; then he added with his sudden smile which held the whimsical quality of old friendship, “Please tell me,––where are the curls?”
“Oh, they are tucked snugly away out of sight,” 165 said she demurely, with a pretty gesture which straying tendrils had made habitual, and the warm colour rising again to her face.