"Nobody is to ride her, remember," I said, as we went out; "only, of course, the man who takes care of her, when it is necessary for exercise."
"Your orders shall be obeyed. Any further instructions that may occur to you in the course of the winter you had better commit to paper and send to me, and I will observe them faithfully."
"Oh, I depend entirely on your integrity; I am confident you will be careful of her. Anyway," I continued, "it's a comfort to know I own anything at Rutledge, and have a sort of claim upon its hospitality still. Ah! how long it will be before I walk up this road with you again, Mr. Rutledge!"
"Maybe not," he answered. "You shall, if you will, come back and make me a visit before many months are over; you shall come back and see how Rutledge looks in her June dress,
"'When all this leafless and uncolored scene,
Shall flush into variety again;'
when this dull November sky shall have given place to the warmest summer sunshine, and this hard, frozen earth shall be soft and brown, and roses shall be blooming about this dreary porch, and the garden shall be one wilderness of sweets, and the trees and the lawn shall be all of the richest green. Will you come then, if I send for you?"
I checked my look of delight with a sigh: "you'll forget before that time, I'm afraid. And I don't believe my aunt would let me come."
"You may trust that to me. Haven't you seen that I make people do as I wish them to? Do you not believe that I can induce your aunt to let you come, if I continue to want you, and you continue to want to come?"
"Perhaps so," I said, half incredulously; "but if I remember right, my Aunt Edith is fond of her own way too, is she not?"
"She has that reputation," he answered, with a short laugh. "But cela ne fait rien. You shall come if you wish to. Leave it to me, and say nothing about it."