Stafford's face lit up, and he laughed--the laugh of the man who wins;
but it died away rather suddenly, as she said gravely:
"But I do not think we shall meet often. I do not often go to the other
side of the lake: very seldom indeed; and you will not, you say, fish
the Heron; so that--Oh, there is the colt loose," she broke off. "How
can it have got out? I meant to ride it to-day, and Jason, thinking I
had changed my mind, must have turned it out."
The colt came waltzing joyously along the road, and catching sight of
the chestnut, whinnied delightedly, and the chestnut responded with one
short whinny of reproof. Ida rode forward and headed the colt, and
Stafford quietly slid along by the hedge and got behind it.
"Take care!" said Ida; "it is very strong. What are you going to do?"
Stafford did not reply, but stole up to the truant step by step
cautiously, and gradually approached near enough to lay his hand on its
shoulder; from its shoulder he worked to its neck and wound his arms
round it.
Ida laughed.
"Oh, you can't hold it!" she said as the colt plunged.
But Stafford hung on tightly and yet, so to speak, gently, soothing the
animal with the "horse language" with which every man who loves them is
acquainted.
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