“I have spoke, and spoke the truth,” said Jem, proudly; “and she did not believe me.”
Still the lady, who had lived too long in the world to be without suspicion, maintained a cold manner, and determined to wait the event without interfering, saying only, that she hoped the money would be found, and advised Jem to have done crying.
“I have done,” said Jem; “I shall cry no more.” And as he had the greatest command over himself, he actually did not shed another tear, not even when the farmer got up to go, saying, he could wait no longer.
Jem silently went to bring out Lightfoot. The lady now took her seat, where she could see all that passed at the open parlour-window. The old woman stood at the door, and several idle people of the village, who had gathered round the lady’s carriage examining it, turned about to listen. In a minute or two Jem appeared, with a steady countenance, leading Lightfoot and, when he came up, without saying a word, put the bridle into Farmer Truck’s hand.
“He has been a good horse,” said the farmer.
“He is a good horse!” cried Jem, and threw his arm over Lightfoot’s neck, hiding his own face as he leaned upon him.
At this instant a party of milk-women went by; and one of them, having set down her pail, came behind Jem, and gave him a pretty smart blow upon the back. He looked up. “And don’t you know me?” said she.
“I forget,” said Jem; “I think I have seen your face before, but I forget.”
“Do you so? and you’ll tell me just now,” said she, half opening her hand, “that you forget who gave you this, and who charged you not to part with it, too.” Here she quite opened her large hand, and on the palm of it appeared Jem’s silver penny.
“Where?” exclaimed Jem, seizing it, “oh, where did you find it? and have you—oh, tell me, have you got the rest of my money?”