She inspected the beautiful little animal by the moonlight.  She even let Hilliard mount her on the shining glossy back and rode slowly about clinging to his mane, ecstatic over the rippling movement under her.

“He’s like a rocking-chair,” said Cosme.  “You can ride him all day and not feel it.”  He looked about the silver meadow.  “Good feed here, isn’t there?  I bet he’ll stay.  If not, I’ll get him for you.”

Sheila slipped down.  They left the horse to graze.

“Yes, it’s first-rate feed.  Do you think Miss Blake will let me keep him?”

His answer was entirely lost by a sudden outbreak from the dogs.

“Good Lord!” said Cosme, making himself heard, “what a breed!  Isn’t that awful!  Why does she keep the brutes?  Isn’t she scared they’ll eat her?”

Sheila shook her head.  Presently the tumult quieted down.  “They’re afraid of her,” she said.  “She has a dreadful whip.  She likes to bully them.  I think she’s rather cruel.  But she does love Berg; she says he’s the only real dog in the pack.”

“Was Berg the one on the bearskin inside?”

“Yes.”

“He’s sure a beauty.  But I don’t like him.  He has wolf eyes.  See here—­you’re shivering.  I’ve kept you out here in the cold.  I’ll go.  Good-night.  Thank you for keeping the horse.  Will you come down to see my house?  I built it”—­he drawled the words—­“for you”—­and added after a tingling moment—­“to see, ma’am.”

This experiment in words sent Sheila to the house, her hand crushed and aching with his good-bye grasp, her heart jumping with a queer fright.

Miss Blake stood astraddle on the hearth, her hands behind her back.

“You better go to bed, Sheila,” she said; “it’s eleven o’clock and to-morrow’s wash-day.”

Her voice was pleasant enough, but its bluffness had a new edge.  Sheila found it easy to obey.  She climbed up the ladder to the little gabled loft which was her bedroom.  Halfway up she paused to assert a belated independence of spirit.  “Good-night,” she said, “how do you like our neighbor?”

Miss Blake stared up.  Her lips were set tight.  She made no answer.  After an instant she sauntered across the room and out of the door.  The whip with which she beat the dogs swung in her hand.  A moment later a fearful howling and yelping showed that some culprit had been chosen for condign punishment.

Sheila set down her candle, sat on the edge of her cot, and covered her ears with her hands.  When it was over she crept into bed.  She felt, though she chided herself for the absurdity, like a naughty child who has been forcibly reminded of the consequences of rebellion.

CHAPTER VI

A HISTORY AND A LETTER

The next morning, it seemed Miss Blake’s humor had completely changed.  It showed something like an apologetic softness.  She patted Sheila’s shoulder when she passed the girl at work.  When Hilliard next appeared, a morning visit this time, he was bidden to share their dinner; he was even smiled upon.