Pepper nozzled and nickered over him, evidently trying to tell him that the act had been partly inspired by the call of the blood, and partly by his love for his mate.  Perhaps Bolivar did not interpret it just that way, but Peggy did.

“Mr. Bolivar, I know Nelly loves Pepper and Salt, but I’d like to make you an offer for those horses just the same.  I knew when I first saw them that they had splendid possibilities and only needed half a chance.  You need two strong, able work-horses for your farm—­these horses are both too high-bred for such work, that you know as well as I do—­so I propose that we make a sensible bargain right now.  We have a span of bays; good, stout fellows six years old, which we have used on the estate.  They shall be yours for this pair with one hundred and twenty-five dollars to boot.  Salt and Pepper are worth six hundred dollars right now, and in a little while, and under proper care and training, will be worth a good deal more.  Shelby will bear me out in that, won’t you?”

“I’d be a plumb fool if I didn’t, miss,” was Shelby’s reply, and Peggy nodded and resumed:  “I have paid seventy-five dollars for Salt, adding to that the one-twenty-five and the span, which I value at four hundred, would make it a square deal, don’t you think so?”

Bolivar looked at the girl as though he thought she had taken leave of her wits.  “One hundred and twenty-five dollars, and a span worth four hundred for a pair of horses which a month before he would have found it hard to sell for seventy-five each?—­well, Miss Stewart must certainly be crazy.”  Peggy laughed at his bewilderment.

“I’m perfectly serious, Mr. Bolivar,” she said.

“Yas’m, yas’m, but, my Lord, miss, I ain’t seen that much money in two year, and your horses—­I ain’t seen ’em, and I don’t want ter; if you say they’re worth it that goes, but—­but—­well, well, things has been sort o’ tough—­sort o’ tough,” and poor, tired, discouraged Jim Bolivar leaned upon the fence and wept from sheer bodily weakness and nervous exhaustion.

Nelly ran to his side to clasp her arms about him and cry: 

“Dad!  Dad!  Poor Dad.  Don’t!  Don’t!  It’s all right, Dad.  We won’t worry about things.  God has taken care of us so far and He isn’t going to stop.”

“That ain’t it, honey.  That ain’t it,” said poor Bolivar, slipping a trembling arm about her.  “It’s—­it’s—­oh, I can’t jist rightly say what ’tis.”

“Wall by all that’s great, I know, then,” exclaimed Shelby, clapping him on the shoulder. “I know, ‘cause I’ve been there:  It’s bein’ jist down, out an’ discouraged with everythin’ and not a blame soul fer ter give a man a boost when he needs it.  I lived all through that kind o’ thing afore I came ter Severndale, an’ ’taint a picter I like fer ter dwell upon.  No it ain’t, an’ we’re goin’ ter bust yours ter smithereens right now.  You don’t want fer ter look at it no longer.”