“Is that a well-bred horse, Thomas?” demanded the young mistress.
“It certainly is, ma’am, if looks count for anything,” replied Thomas.
“Very well bred?”
“I’m sure ma’am, the creature must be perfectly so; I’ve never seen anything so fine ma’am, ’pon my word,” he continued, the swelled veins of his forehead betraying his stifled enthusiasm.
“Do you mean by that, Thomas, you have never seen that horse before?”
Thomas hesitated.
“Say what you wish to say, Thomas,” prompted the young mistress, with a hasty glance at his face.
“Thanky, ma’am. Well, you know, ma’am, that your lawyer, sometime last fall, had the poor master’s trainer sell off some of the horses from his stable. I’m sure, ma’am, that this is the one the trainer complained so much of selling, but Mr. Grannan had offered a big price, and the lawyer made him sell her.”
She had already stepped forward to caress the eager, gazing animal, timidly, for she could not resist the earnest, entreating look it bestowed, but, when Thomas spoke the word “master,” she drew back sharply and stood motionless.
“Never fear, ma’am,” said the coachman, “she won’t harm, ma’am.”