He wanted those bays—the finest in town—and he wanted the carriage and his daughters wanted it, and at last he said:
“Girl, what’ll you take for them horses and kerridge, anyway? I don’t mean a turnin’ but a square sale. You’d as lief sell ’em to me as anybody, I s’pose. I’m good to my dum critters, I be.”
Louie looked bewildered a moment, and then replied: “I don’t know. Mr. Blake will see to that. We shall sell them to someone”; then to the men: “It is settled, then, that you will not trouble father. I thank you so much, and I promise again that you shall be paid if I live.”
It was a great deal to promise, and not one of her hearers believed she could do it, but she did, and looked very brave and hopeful as she put on her cloak and started to leave. The neighbor, Mr. Clark, asked her to wait and he would go with her. But she said: “No, thanks; I came alone, and can go alone. I would rather. Father is wanting me by this time.”
She pulled her hood over her head and left the room, hearing, as she closed the door, Mr. Sheldon’s saying:
“Don’t promise them horses to anybody till you hear from me.”
Herbert was still sitting on the dry-goods box in the dark recess when she came out, and he knew by her face that she had been successful.
“Louie,” he said, coming forward with a suddenness which made her start. “Louie, I am here.”
She did not cry out, but she stopped quickly and looked at him in amazement. He had declined going there to speak for her father, and yet here he was waiting for her, and for an instant she felt something like gratitude that he should thus think of her. But his answer to her question, “How did you know I was coming here?” dispelled that illusion.
“I didn’t know,” he said. “I came, hoping to find out what they meant to do. I never dreamed of your venturing out in this storm, and was astonished when I saw you come up the stairs.”