“Dey sho’ does, missie,” answered Jess, pleased as Punch to see his young mistress’ quick eye for fine horseflesh, though it must be admitted that the fine qualities of these horses were well disguised, and only a connoisseur could have detected them.

As they stood looking at the horses the owner came up accompanied by another man.  They were in earnest conversation, the owner evidently protesting and his companion expostulating.  Something impelled Peggy to tarry, and without seeming to do so, to listen.  She soon grasped the situation:  The horses’ owner owed the other man some money which he was unable to pay.  The argument grew heated.  Peggy was unheeded.  The upshot was the transfer of ownership of one of the span of horses to the other man, the new owner helping unharness the one chosen, its mate looking on with surprised, questioning eyes, as though asking why he, too, was not being unharnessed.  The new owner did not seem over-pleased with his bargain either (he lacked Peggy’s discernment) and vented his ill-temper upon the poor horse.  Presently he led him away, the mate whinnying and calling after his companion in a manner truly pathetic.

“Quick, Jess,” ordered Peggy, “go and find out who that man is and where he is taking that horse, but don’t let him suspect why.”

Jess scrambled out of the surrey, saying:  “Yo’ count on me, Miss Peggy.  I’s wise, I is; I ketches on all right.”

Peggy continued to watch.  The man sat down upon an upturned box near his wagon, buried his face in his hands and seemed oblivious of all taking place around him.  Presently the horse turned toward him and nickered questioningly.  The man looked up and reaching out a work-hardened hand, stroked the poor beast’s nose, saying: 

“’Taint no use, Pepper; he’s done gone fer good.  Everythin’s gone, and I wisht ter Gawd I was done gone too, fer ’taint no use.  The fight’s too hard for us.”

Just then he caught the eye of the young girl watching him.  There was something in her expression which seemed to spell hope:  he felt utterly hopeless.  She smiled and beckoned to him.  She was so used to being obeyed that his response was as a matter of course to her.  He moved slowly toward the surrey, resting his hand upon the wheel and looking up at her with listless eyes.  “You want me, miss?” he asked.

Peggy said gently: 

“I couldn’t help seeing what happened; I was right here.  Please don’t think me inquisitive, but would you mind telling me something about your horses?  I love them so, and—­and—­and—­I think yours have good blood.”

The furrowed, weatherbeaten face seemed transformed as he answered: 

“Some of the best in the land, miss.  Some of the best.  How did ye guess it?”

“I did not guess it; I knew it.  I raise horses.”

“Then you’re Miss Stewart from Severndale, ain’t ye?”

“Yes, and you?”

“I’m jist Jim Bolivar.  I live ’bout five mile this side of Severndale.  Lived there nigh on ter twenty year, but yo’ wouldn’t never know me, o’ course, though I sometimes drives over to yo’ place.”