"Ranna," he said, staring at her through his spectacles and holding out a hand to her, "you are surely not afraid of your brother's gift to your boy. What a superb pony! I see that, though my eyes are semi-blind to horseflesh."
The lady came forward holding tightly to his hand, her eager eyes going beyond me to the place where her boy lay.
Now I could see her face, for she was holding her veil aside. She was like the boy. Her eyes were of that strange pale hue that yet somehow warmed one's heart.
All my naughty feelings toward her died away. I had been annoyed with this runaway mother and jealous of her. Now that I saw her so timid and clinging and with that wonderful look in her eyes that makes a pony follow a human being to death if necessary, I was on her side. I did not care so much about the man. I suspected that if he had been one to hold the reins firmly the beautiful lady would never have run away.
I made a gentle nickering sound and stepped toward her. Oh! what a flashing smile she gave me. It lighted up her rather sad face, and stretching out one little hand, she said in sweet husky tones, "Pretty creature!"
I touched her hand. Poor lady! What a thousand pities that she had lost her lovely voice.
She had forgotten me. Like one petrified, she stood gazing at the sleeping boy, who was certainly a picture as he lay on his fragrant couch, a smile on his lips, his arms crossed over his head, his face brown and handsome, for he had long ago lost the pallor that he had brought from his city home.
"Douglas!" she said, "Douglas!" and her tone was almost terrified.
Her husband was right beside her. "Compose yourself, Ranna. What is it?"
"He is so immense," she whispered. "My tiny baby is gone."