‘Why do you think so, Phoebe?’

‘May I tell you all about it, sir?’ said the girl, earnestly.  Then without waiting for permission—­’I never have told a living soul, Mr. Rollo; for Mrs. Bywank she shuts me up with:  “Do your work Phoebe, and don’t talk;” and so I have, sir, always.  It was one day after a ride—­for she’s had the beautifullest horse, sir!—­since you’ve been away, I guess; and she’d ride every morning before breakfast, and come home looking—­Well I can’t begin to tell!’ said Phoebe, enthusiastically.  ’But Reo said it was the flush of the morning going through his gate.’

The bay lifted up one foot and struck it impatiently on the ground.  His rider sat still, waiting upon Phoebe’s words.  The reins were on the horse’s neck, but the creature probably had made up his mind that any volunteer extra steps were unnecessary under his new master, for he stood like a rock, that one foot excepted.

‘So,’ said Phoebe, taking up her broken thread, ’of course Jeannie Deans (that’s the horse, Mr. Rollo) began to love her, might and main, right off—­as everybody does; but even Mr. Lewis allowed he never saw a horse learn so quick.  And it isn’t often he allows anything,’ said Phoebe, with the slightest toss of her head.  ’It wasn’t for sugar,—­sometimes Miss Hazel would give her a lump, but generally not; only she’d pat her and talk to her, and look in her face, and then Jeannie’d look right at her, and begin to follow round if Miss Hazel just held out her hand.  Some days she’d come all the way up from the lodge just so,—­not holding the bridle nor nothing,—­the prettiest sight you ever saw, sir!  She didn’t call her Jeannie, either,—­it was some short, queer name that I never did quite hear, she’d say it so softly.  Most like a bird’s talk, of anything.’  Phoebe paused, smiling at the remembrance.

It was well her hearer’s nerves were in training.  He waited, knowing that he should best get the whole by allowing the yarn to reel off unbroken; so now he only gave utterance to an attentive ‘But what next, Phoebe?’

‘O, sir,’ said the girl, suddenly sober again, ’one day—­I didn’t know where she’d been, Miss Hazel, I mean,—­but it was afternoon, and she was coming home.  And I was out under the trees like to-day, taking in.  And Miss Hazel stopped and sent Lewis back, and came on alone to the steps, sir,—­came like the wind!—­and jumped off.  And then she off with her glove—­and you know what Miss Hazel’s hand is, sir,—­and the little white thing began to fondle Jeannie Deans.  Patting her neck, and stroking her face, and combing out her mane, and fingering her ears; and Jeannie she held her head down, and sideways, as if she meant to give all the help she could.  And I was looking on, just among the bushes like, when all in a minute Miss Hazel put both her arms right round the horse’s neck and laid her head close down—­and there she stood.’—­Phoebe paused to take breath.

‘Not ill then, Phoebe?’ said her hearer, in a very low tone.