They walked in, and Dallas after petting me affectionately said shyly to his uncle, "Seeing Prince Fetlar again reminds me that you have not yet spoken to me about the other morning. I know you wish to do so."
I too was nervous. Ponies that are well brought up always worry when their young masters worry.
The man had an opportunity for a good lecture, but instead of beginning to scold he put us both at our ease by bursting into one of his ringing laughs.
It echoed all through the big empty stable where the western sun was streaming in on the pony stalls.
His laugh was the kind that makes one feel like joining in and soon young Dallas was giggling feebly. Then he too burst into a jolly peal. Tears ran down his cheeks. "Oh! Uncle," he said, getting out his handkerchief which was white and clean like a girl's, "I don't know what I'm laughing at."
"Neither do I," said his uncle, and then they both laughed harder than ever until at last I felt my own lips curling.
"You're such a funny lad," said the man after a time, wiping his eyes and then laying a hand kindly on the boy's head. "You take me back to the days of my youth when I used to play with your dear mother. There were just the two of us. Oh! you are like her, so much like her. Boy, she used to lie too in her young days, but never to me, only to persons she was afraid of."
"I don't lie to you," said Dallas seriously, "I don't want to."
"Are you afraid of my children that you tell stories to them?"