Seeing that she was determined, unable to conjecture what she had come down for, realizing, upon second thought, that it was most improbable that she had any tale to tell of him, he reluctantly gave way.  “As you will, then,” he said slowly.  “But let me warn you that you won’t be welcome hyar.  You’ll learn the difference between the mounting and the bluegrass folks.  You’d better think it over and turn back.”

“I’ll not,” said she.

As he walked disgustedly away she watched him curiously.  “I wonder why he is so sot on makin’ me go back?” she mused.  “Maybe he air right in sayin’ that I won’t be welcome; but I’ll do my duty, just th’ same!”

Neb came out from the stable.  The girl saw him with delight.  “Dellaw!” she said.  “How tired I be!  Howdy, Uncle Neb; howdy!”

“Sakes alive!” he cried.  “It’s de frenomenom, come down frum de mountains!  Howdy, honey, howdy!” He hurried toward her and saw that she was near to tears from weariness and the strain of what she had gone through and what she had to tell.  “Why, chil’, what’s de mattuh?”

“Pebble in my shoe,” she answered, and busied herself as if removing one.  “All right in a minute.  This air a long way from th’ mountings.”

“Honey, you don’t mean you walked!”

“Had to.  Wings ain’t growed, yet.  Say; I’ve come to bring a word to Mr. Frank.  Is he to home?” She motioned toward the stable, which was the finest building she had ever seen.

“Yes; but he don’t lib dar, honey.”

“Don’t he?  Who does, then?”

“Queen Bess.”

“Queen Bess!” The girl was thunderstruck; her worry choked her.  She knew Frank owned a blooded mare, but did not know her name, and she had but vaguely heard of queens.  “Well—­air she to home?”

“Yes; an’ Marse Frank, an’ Miss ‘Lethe, an’ Miss Barbara’s comin’, purty soon, to see huh.”

“Miss Barbarous!” said Madge, aroused by the mere mention of the girl who, from the start, she had recognized, instinctively, as her real enemy.  It had been thought of her, alone, which had made her bear the weary burden of the bundle on the long journey from the mountains.  “I’d like to fix a little, ‘fore she comes.  I got some idees o’ fashion from her, when she was up thar, an’ I been workin’ ev’ry minute I could spare, since then, on a new dress.  Ain’t thar some place I can go to fashion up before they come?”

The old negro was acutely sympathetic.  He disliked Miss Barbara and liked the mountain girl.  His old black head, thick as it was, sometimes, had quickly recognized the fact that Barbara regarded Madge as one to be despised, humiliated, while his master treated her with much consideration and thought highly of her.  He did not like the daughter of Horace Holton any better than he liked the man himself.  If he could help the mountain girl he would.  The only place where she could possibly find privacy, without going to the house, was in the stable with the race-horse.  He would have trusted no one else on earth with her; to distrust Madge, however, did not once occur to him.