"He needs coaxing," she said. "The pore feller's pretty old, and we've surely come some way."
"Not this morning," Monica protested, studying the girl's face with genuine admiration.
She was not disappointed. The girl was a striking-looking creature. Her dark hair and brows threw up into strong relief the beautiful eyes which looked fearlessly up into her face as she made her reply.
"Oh yes, mam," she said calmly. "You see, we started from Toogoods' at four o'clock. I want to be home by noon. Guess we'll make it tho'. Old Pete and I have made some long journeys together."
"He looks a good horse," Monica hazarded. She knew little enough of horse flesh, but she liked the look of this girl and wanted to be agreeable. "How far have you to go now?"
"Guess it's most twenty-two or thereabouts. Mamma'll be worried some if I don't make home by noon. I don't like worrying mamma, she's so good, and—and she's dreadfully nervous."
"An invalid?" suggested Monica.
"Oh, no." The girl's eyes were still absorbed in the details of Monica's dress. She had never seen anything quite like it before, and her shrewd mind was speculating as to this stranger's identity.
"Say, where you from?" she asked suddenly, in a quick, decided manner. "Guess you belong to Deep Willows. Maybe you're Mrs. Hendrie?"
"Quite-right—how did you know?"