“Ah, thou bonny, bonny creature!  Thou jewel among thy fellows.  Ah, but you possess a masculine frailty.  Ah, yes, I’ve detected it.  Oh, Shashai, Shashai, is thy heart reached only through thy stomach?” for now the colt was nozzling most insinuatingly at one of the ample pockets of the old gentleman’s top coat.  Never had those pockets failed him since the days when he had ceased to be nourished by his dam’s milk, and his faith in their bounty was not misplaced, for a slender white hand was inserted to be withdrawn with the lump of sugar Shashai had counted upon and held forth upon the palm from which the velvety lips took it as daintily as a young lady’s fingers could have taken it.

Three was the dole evidently for when three had been eaten Shashai gravely bowed his head three times in acknowledgment of his treat and then turned to nibble at the budding trees, his benefactor returning to Peggy.

“So this is heyday and holiday, dear heart, is it?  Saturday’s emancipation from your old Dominie Exactus when you may range wood and field unmolested, with never a thought for his domination and tyranny.”

“As though you ever dominated or tyrannized over me!” protested the girl.  “I’d do anything, anything for you—­you know that, don’t you?” There was deep reproach in her voice.  Then, it changed suddenly as she asked: 

“But where is Doctor Claudius?”

“In his stall, eating his fill.  I wished to use my own legs today,” smiled her companion.  “His are exceptionally good ones, but my own will grow stiff if I do not use them more.”

Just then Shashai suddenly raised his head and stood with ears alert and nostrils extended.  Tzaritza rose from the ground where she had dropped down after greeting Dr. Llewellyn, and stood with ears raised, though neither man nor girl yet heard the faintest sound.

“Some one’s coming and coming in a hurry,” said Peggy quietly, “or they wouldn’t look like that.”

As she spoke the dull thud of hoofs pounding rapidly upon soft turf was borne to their ears, and a moment later a big gray horse ridden by a little negro boy, as tattered a specimen of his race as one might expect to see, came pounding into sight.  With some difficulty he brought the big horse to a standstill in front of them and grabbing off his ragged cap stammered out his message: 

“Howdy, Massa Dominie.  Sarvint, Missy Peggy, but Josh done sont me fer ter fin’ yo’ an’ bring you back yon’ mighty quick, kase—­kase, de—­de sor’el mar’ done got mos’ kilt an’ lak’ ’nough daid right dis minit.  He say, please ma’am, come quick as Shazee kin fotch yo’ fo’ de Empress, she mighty bad an’—­”

“What has happened to her, Bud?” interrupted Peggy, turning to spring upon Shashai’s back, but pausing to learn some particulars.  The Empress was one of the most valuable brood mares upon the estate and her foal, still dependent upon her for its nourishment, was Peggy’s pride and joy.