Madelon went softly out of the house, and ran across and down the road to the tavern. Dexter Beers, the landlord, was just going around the wide sweep of drive to the stable with a meal-sack over his shoulder. No one else was in sight; it was so cold there were no loafers about. Madelon ran after him, and overtook him before he reached the stable door.
“Can you let me take a horse?” said she, abruptly.
Dexter Beers looked slowly around at her with a quick roll of a black eye in a massive face. He had an enormous bulk, which he moved about with painful sidewise motions. His voice was husky.
“What d'ye want a horse for?” said he.
“I want it to put in Parson Fair's sleigh.”
“What for?”
“To take Dorothy to ride.”
“Parson's horse lame yet?”
Madelon nodded.
“Where's yours?”