In the evening he went to see Vinnie on board the schooner, and talked of his ill success.
"A light roan? that's a kind of gray, ain't it?" said the captain of the Heron. "That bearish fellow from Long Woods, who wouldn't take into his wagon anybody connected with the Bettersons—"
"Dudley Peakslow,—I sha'n't soon forget his name!" said Vinnie.
"He drove such a horse," said the captain; "though I didn't notice the forefeet or any scars."
Jack laughed, and shook his head.
"That's what everybody says. But the scars and forefeet are the main points in my case. I wouldn't give a cent for a roan horse without 'em!" Then he changed the subject. "It's a beautiful night, Vinnie; let's go for a little stroll on the lake shore, and forget all about roans,—light roans, dark roans, white feet, black, blue, green, yellow feet! Perhaps your friends will go with us."
Jack hoped they wouldn't, I regret to say. But the night was so pleasant, and the captain's wife had become so attached to Vinnie, that she persuaded her husband to go.
The lake shore was charming; for in those early days it had not been marred by breakwaters and docks. The little party strolled along the beach, with the sparkling waves dashing at their feet, and the lake spread out before them, vast, fluctuating, misty-gray, with here and there a white crest tossing in the moon.
Singing snatches of songs with Vinnie, telling stories with the captain, skipping pebbles on the lake,—ah, how happy Jack was! He was glad, after all, that they had all come together, since there was now no necessity of Vinnie's hastening back to the schooner, to prevent her friends from sitting up for her.
"I've been in this port fifty times," said the captain, "but I've never been down here before, neither has my wife; and I'm much obliged to you for bringing us."