The first statement was open to doubt, also, the second, for Ned Raulsbury, who had not had the pleasure of fraternal intercourse with his brother Jabe for many years, unless a ten years' lawsuit to secure his own share of the estate represented it, probably congratulated himself that he was not likely to "find another."

Jean repeated the legend with infinite scorn, and Hadyn laughed outright. Then growing serious again, he said:

"Perhaps a better record of Jabe's true character is preserved in his neighbors' memory of him, and I should think that Mrs. Raulsbury might now draw her first free breath. It _is_ true that a man's death can sometimes bring oblivion of his evil deeds. Poor old Baltie might have told a few of Jabe's, but even had he possessed human speech I doubt if he would have so employed it. Baltie was a gentleman. And, Little Sister, as a gentleman he must have a monument. Yes, I mean it. A shaft shall mark the old horse's resting-place down there in the garden, and I shall have it erected; it is the least I can do under the circ.u.mstances.

Don't say anything about it to anyone. What would you like inscribed on it, dear?"

As Hadyn talked in his deep, softly-modulated voice, Jean's face grew radiant. At his concluding question she clasped his hand in both of hers and pressed her lips to it again and again, exclaiming:

"No one but you would ever have understood! No, not anyone. You have _always_ understood; right from the very first day I knew you. Baltie would never have been saved on that awful day, or ever have been mine at all, if it hadn't been for you, Champion, and oh, how hard, hard, hard I love you for it. Please don't ever go away from us; I couldn't live without you now; none of us could; you'll be just one of us always, won't you, Champion?"

Jean was too deeply in earnest to be aware that Hadyn's face was flushing, or of the strange expression creeping into his eyes: a light of wonderful tenderness and yearning. He looked steadily into the eyes regarding him so earnestly as he said:

"Little Sister, do you realize that your home is the only real home I have known in many years? That when you and Eleanor and Constance agreed to share with me 'a part of Mother,' as you so sweetly expressed it, you made me your debtor forever and ever? Can you understand how very dear that little Mother of yours is to me, or how much her daughters' welcome into their home has done to spare me a great many lonely hours? True, there are many friends in the outer world, but that house was once my Mother's home, you know, and all my boyhood was spent in it. To go back to it under almost any conditions would seem almost like entering my own doors, but to be welcomed to it as I have been makes it-well, some day you may understand just what it _does_ make it, little girl. And now I want to tell you something else: You miss old Baltie, I know, and nothing can ever quite fill his place for you, but your heart is big, true and warm enough to hold another, isn't it? For some time I have been dissatisfied with the care given Comet down in that South Riveredge boarding stable. They are careless in grooming him, and someone, I can't find out which man, is not treating him kindly. Comet never knew the meaning of a harsh or impatient word until he went there, never feared a blow--"

"Strike Comet!" cried Jean, all her sense of justice outraged.

"Not exactly strike him, I think, but there are many ways of making a high-strung, thoroughbred horse's life a torture. A sudden slap when grooming him, a shout if he does not step around briskly, or even a blow on his muzzle with the curry-comb. They may not inflict any great amount of pain, but they soon get on his nerves, and the next thing we know we have a horse that starts and plunges at the first sharp word; jerks his head up if anyone raises a hand toward it; shrinks at the sight of a curry-comb as from an instrument of torture. Comet never before manifested any of those signs, but now I'm beginning to notice them, and I don't like it a little bit. I wouldn't have that horse ruined for ten times his price in dollars, and so I'm going to see what I can do to place him where all chance of it will be removed."

"Where, where are you going to send him?" cried Jean, clasping her hands in her eagerness.

"How would you like to have him come and live down yonder with you?"

asked Hadyn, nodding toward Jean's home, which could be seen from their woodland nook.

"In our stable: Comet? To be there all the time so I could go out to see him every single day, and he'd grow to love me just as Baltie did? Do you really mean it? Could I?"

"I think Comet will meet your advances more than half way. He has been treated like a child since his colthood, and you know how he understands _me_. I've had a long talk with the little mother, and she has agreed to let me keep Comet down there, and my man Parsons is to take care of him, to sleep in the coachman's room upstairs and board with Mammy. You know most of his color find 'just naturally doing nothing' quite to their liking; but Parsons seems to be of different clay, so we will make him happy by keeping him busy. Good plan all around, don't you think so?"

"I think you are just the splendidest, dearest man that ever lived, and Comet shall have the best care in all the world, and if any living being so much as points a finger at him I'll-I'll-well, I just tell you, they'd better not! Now, let's go right back home and tell Connie all about it. You know she loves Comet as much as you or I love him, and she'll be tickled to death to have him right there," and Jean bounded to her feet all enthusiasm, her eyes shining and cheeks glowing, for something to love and care for was absolutely essential to Jean's happiness.

And so it came to pa.s.s that about a week later Comet was installed in the Carruth stable, and if ever a horse came into an earthly paradise, Comet came into one in this new home.

Jean was in a rapture, and truly no horse-lover could fail to fall complete victim to Comet's charms. It was the balm needed for Jean's sorrow for Baltie, and when, in the course of the following weeks, a granite shaft was placed over Baltie's grave, the little girl was as happy as she well could be.

The shaft bore the legend:

TO BALTIE.

_For Thirty Years a Faithful Friend and Servitor._

Perhaps in some more blissful realm Your eyes will beam on us again, And we shall find that great and small, G.o.d _is_ the father of us all.

CHAPTER XV

MAMMY MAKES A DISCOVERY.

June had come, and with June came Eleanor's graduation. During her various holidays Eleanor had returned to Riveredge, and with each return of Eleanor there was vigorous renewal of visits from Homer Forbes.

Forbes seemed deeply occupied in the intervals, and those most interested in the progress of affairs at the Irving School wondered at his long absence during the afternoons and his frequent walks up the mountain to a plateau at its summit. More than once had some of the pupils of the Irving School met him as he strolled along toward it, head bent in deepest meditation, hat drawn down over his eyes, hands clasped behind him, and "munchin', munchin', munchin', fer all de spi't an'

image ob a goat," said Mammy, who frequently came upon him as he pa.s.sed through the Arcade, for he never set forth upon his rambles without fortifying himself with a box of Constance's candies.

Since the fall Jean had not journeyed to the Irving School with her candies, so the sweet-tooth Forbes was obliged to go after his sweeties or do without them. But it did not seem to inconvenience him. The Arcade lay upon his way, and nothing short of dynamite was ever likely to hurry him. He would buy his box of chocolates and start off, leaving behind him a little trail of the paraffin papers in which they had been wrapped, and by which anyone so minded might have followed him miles.

Sometimes, if he had absent-mindedly forgotten to eat any luncheon, he would supplement his box of candies with some of Mammy's sandwiches, and it was upon one of these occasions that his call at Mammy's counter led to a curious disclosure.

With the warm spring weather Charles' health improved steadily; but Mammy had no idea of risking a repet.i.tion of her recent experiences by permitting Charles to take needless risks. On dull days or damp ones Charles must bide at home in his cottage, or do little indoor jobs for his mistress. True, Hadyn's man left very little for the old man to do, for Hadyn had been very careful to tell Parsons that Mrs. Carruth must not want for any service he could render her, and at the same time tactfully spare old Charles' feelings. And Parsons was a clever young negro, as well as a devoted one to Hadyn.

And it so fell out that Mammy went down to the Arcade rather oftener than usual that spring, and consequently saw many things. Among others was the frequency with which Mr. Elijah Sniffins haunted Arch Number One.

Now, Mammy had absolutely no use for Mr. Elijah Sniffins, as may be remembered. Of course, she conceded him the right to purchase all the candy he wished; but why should he dawdle over his selection, and then tarry to talk with Miss Boggs until the girl seemed almost panic stricken? As near as Mammy could discover, she wished him anywhere but in Arch Number One, and one Sat.u.r.day morning Mammy took it upon herself to keep a sharp lookout. Several times during the morning she made excuses to go down to the counter for boxes of candy for some of her own customers, and twice found Sniffins there engaged in a very confidential conversation with Miss Boggs. Upon her approach he made most impressive bows to the young lady, and departed with slow insolence.

"'Pears lak dat man powerful set 'pon dese hyer candies," remarked Mammy.

"Yes, I guess he does like them pretty well," answered Miss Boggs.

"You know him quite a spell back?" was Mammy's next question.

"Oh, yes, for some time," was the hasty answer. "Did you want some more of those pralines, Mammy?" and Miss Boggs fluttered nervously among the boxes in the case, bending low to avoid Mammy's sharp eyes. As Mammy stood talking Homer Forbes came strolling up to the candy counter.

"Good-morning, Mammy Blairsdale. As usual, you have a watchful eye upon Miss Constance's interests, I see."

"Mor'in', Marsa Fo'bes. Yas, sir. Dat's what ma eyes were done give me fo', an' dey ain't often playin' me no tricks, neider. Dey's good, sharp eyes, if dey _is_ ol' ones," was Mammy's sibyl-like answer.

"You proved that fact to me many months ago," said Forbes, with one of his whimsical, inscrutable smiles. "I should hate to have a guilty conscience and have you cast your eyes upon me. I'd give myself away as sure as shooting. I'd be sure you'd read my secret if I had one. Lucky I haven't!"

"Yas, sir, 'tis. Mos' culled folks has de gif ob secon' sight, dey say.

I ain't rightly know what secon' sight is mase'f, but I knows dis much p'intedly: I knows dat dey ain't many folks what kin fool me fer long.

Dey like 'nough fool me a little while, but I ketches dem sooner or later. Yas, sah, I does. Yo' gwine for one ob yo' strolls terday? 'Pears lak yo' powerful taken wid dat mountain walk, yo' go 'long up dat a-way so f'equently. Better stop ter ma lunch counter an' git a snack ter take 'long wid yo'."

How innocent the words, yet what a strange effect they produced upon Miss Boggs. Forbes did not notice it at all, but Mammy missed nothing.

"Good idea. I'll be along presently," said Forbes, as he selected his box of chocolates, and reached into the pocket of his trousers for the change, rather abstractedly staring at Miss Boggs as he did so. The girl seemed greatly disconcerted by the look, though, as a matter of fact, Forbes himself was barely aware of her presence. It was not lost upon Mammy, who had given one swift, backward glance as she turned to go down the Arcade. A moment later Forbes reached her counter.

"Give me a good snack to-day, Mammy Blairsdale. I've much on my mind these days, and must keep the brain well fed."

"Reckons yo'll find _dat_ wholesome-lak," returned Mammy, handing him a neat little package.

"What's the damage?" he asked.

"None 'tall lessen yo' drap it, er sits on it. If yo' does dat it'll squash."

"Nonsense! How much?"

"Ain't I say nothin', sah?-wid de complements ob de firm," was Mammy's grandiloquent answer. Then, coming closer, she asked:

"Ma.s.sa Fo'bes, I wonner if yo' kin he'p me wid somepin what's pesterin'

ma min' mightily?"