“Why, I do believe she has transferred her affections to you, Dick,” said Jackson. “I never heard her do that before except to Hunky Ben, and she’s bin many a time in that stall.”
“More likely that she expected Ben had come to bid her good-night,” returned the sailor.
But the way in which the beautiful creature received Dick’s caresses induced Jackson to hold to his opinion. It is more probable, however, that some similarity of disposition between Dick Darvall and Hunky Ben had commended itself to the mare, which was, as much as many a human being, of an amiable, loving disposition. She thoroughly appreciated the tenderness and forbearance of her master, and, more recently, of Dick. No doubt the somewhat rough way in which she had been thrown to the ground that day may have astonished her, but it evidently had not soured her temper.
That night Dick did not see much of Mary. She was far too busy attending to, and providing for, the numerous guests at the ranch to be able to give individual attention to any one in particular—even had she been so disposed.
Buttercup of course lent able assistance to her mistress in these domestic duties, and, despite her own juvenility—we might perhaps say, in consequence of it—gave Mary much valuable advice.
“Dat man’s in a bad way,” said she, as, with her huge lips pouting earnestly, she examined the contents of a big pot on the fire. The black maiden’s lips were so pronounced and expressive that they might almost be said to constitute her face!
“What man?” asked Mary, who, with her sleeves tucked up to the elbows, was manipulating certain proportions of flour, water, and butter.
“Why, Dick, oh course. He’s de only man wuth speakin’ about.”
Mary blushed a little in spite of herself, and laughed hilariously as she replied—
“Dear me, Butter, I didn’t think he had made such a deep impression on you.”