"Yes'm," said Bud, and he had as yet not a thought of saying anything else.
But Miss Alice lingered and watched the rubbing; not that she was interested in that, or, indeed, was thinking about it at all. She was watching Bud, and thinking of him. What did Claire Benedict find in him to interest her? What did she suppose that she, Alice Ansted, could do to help him? The idea seemed fully as absurd as it had when first suggested.
As if the boy had an idea above the horse he was rubbing so carefully! He did not look as intelligent as the animal. She had often wondered what the horses thought about, as they trotted along. What did Bud think about as he rubbed? Did he think at all?
"You seem to like that work?"
It was Miss Alice's voice again. It startled Bud, the tone was so gentle, as though possibly she might be saying the words to comfort him. He dropped the brush with which he had been working; but as he stooped to pick it up, answered respectfully,
"Yes, ma'am."
Alice's lip curled. The idea of Miss Benedict trying to interest her in a boor like that, who could not reply to the merest commonplace without growing red in the face and blundering over his work! She turned to go. She could not think of anything else to say, and if she could, what use to say it? But in that one moment of time, Bud had taken his resolution. The voice had been kind; its echo lingered pleasantly; he would summon all his courage and ask the question which was absorbing his thoughts. It might be days before he could see Miss Benedict again, and he could not wait.
"Miss Ansted," he said, and she noticed that his voice trembled, "would you tell me one thing that I want to know right away?"
"That depends," she answered lightly; "I may not know. However, if your question is not too deep, I may try to answer it. What do you want?"
"Why, I've got to know right away where Jerusalem is."