She took his head between her hands and pressed it hard against her heart, and then wrapped her arms tight about him, and softly bemoaned him.
They drew a little apart when the man came in with his lantern, and set it down to mend the fire. But as a railroad employee he was far too familiar with the love that vaunts itself on all railroad trains to feel that he was an intruder. He scarcely looked at them, and went out when he had mended the fire, and left it purring.
“Where is Andy Morrison?” asked Bartley. “Has he gone back?”
“No; he is at the hotel over there. I told him to wait till I found out when the train went north.”
“So you inquired when it went to Boston,” said Bartley, with a touch of his old raillery. “Come,” he added, taking her hand under his arm. He led her out of the room, to where his cutter stood outside. She was astonished to find the colt there.
“I wonder I didn't see it. But if I had, I should have thought that you had sold it and gone away; Andy told me you were coming here to sell the colt. When the man told me the express was gone, I knew you were on it.”
They found the boy stolidly waiting for Marcia on the veranda of the hotel, stamping first upon one foot and then the other, and hugging himself in his great-coat as the coming snow-fall blew its first flakes in his face.
“Is that you, Andy?” asked Bartley.
“Yes, sir,” answered the boy, without surprise at finding him with Marcia.
“Well, here! Just take hold of the colt's head a minute.”