It might have been tempting, to a certain class of minds, to look at that pretty little figure flying off at full trot in all the riot of self-guidance, and to know that it only wanted good hands to train her into something really fine. But Mrs. Landholm went back to her ironing, and Winthrop to drive his oxen a field.
Elizabeth trotted till she had left them out of sight; and then walked her horse slowly while she thought what had been meant by that queer speech of Winthrop's. Then she reminded herself that it was of no sort of consequence what had been meant by it, and she trotted on again.
Asahel as usual came out to hold her bridle when she returned.
"Asahel, who takes care of my horse?" she said as she was dismounting.
"Ain't it handsomely done?" said Asahel.
"Yes, — beautifully. Who does it?"
"It's somebody that always does things so," said Asahel oracularly, a little in doubt how he should answer.
"Well, who?"
"Don't you know?"
"Of course I don't! Who is it?"