"And if I had n't come, Rose-pose, I should never have been rich as I am now; Chi can't call me 'poor' any longer--for you 're all mine, now that you are Jack's; aren't you?"
March, hearing those whispered words, found his mother's hand, somehow,--and Mrs. Blossom understood.
"Good-night, Martie dear," cried Rose, love and tears and laughter struggling in her voice.
"Good-night, Rose dear."
"Good-night, Rose--Good-night, Jack!" cried the twins.
A white slipper filled with rice flew after Little Shaver, and hit him on the left hock. But he was a well-bred polo pony, and a white satin slipper with a little rice was as nothing to a swift, long-distance polo ball; so he gave no sign.
Chi stopped at the little house "over eastwards." Maria-Ann was on the lookout.
"They 're comin' along just by the turn of the road," he spoke low, "can you see 'em?"
The road lay white in the moonlight. "Yes, yes," cried Maria-Ann excitedly, "Oh, Chi, ain't it beautiful!"
"Sh--sh!" said Chi, "they 'll hear you. Hark! By George Washin'ton! she 's singin'--Get, Fleet." The horse loped along over the moonlit road, and Maria-Ann went in and shut the door--all but a crack. To that she put her ear, to hear what the clear, sweet voice was singing: