They hurried out of the room, and went quickly to the eastern piazza where Mrs. Owen and Tom, the groom, stood.
“What is it, mother?” asked Peggy noting their disturbed looks.
“Peggy,” said her mother going to her, “thee must be very brave, my child. Star is gone. She hath been stolen from the stable.”
“Star! My pony stolen!” cried the girl as though unable to believe her ears. “My pony! Oh, mother, it can’t be true!”
“I fear that it is only too true,” answered the lady sorrowfully.
“But stolen? Who would steal Star? Tom,”—turning quickly to the negro groom,—“when did thee see her last? Didn’t thee feed her this morning?
“No’m; I ain’t seed her dis mo’nin’,” answered Tom who seemed stupefied by the occurrence. “I fed her las’ night, Miss Peggy, but when I kum out dis mo’nin’ she wuz gone. De back doah wuz open, an’ I know’d she wuz stole, kase I fas’n’d dat doah my own sef las’ night.”
“Oh, but she can’t be,” cried Peggy with a sob. “Maybe she has just strayed away. Has thee looked in the garden, Tom? Or through the orchard?”
“I hab looked ebberwhar, Miss Peggy,” declared the black with dignity. “Torm warn’t gwine ter take any chances ob not seein’ dat are mare when she de onlyest piece ob hoss-flesh dat we has dat mounts ter a row ob pins. No’m; she stole. Dat’s all dere is to it.”
“Peggy, Peggy!” called Robert Dale who, grown tired of waiting, had come in search of the girls. “What keeps you so long?”