"And the price?" said Allen.

"Name it, an' I'll call thee just."

The business over, the tinker called to Trove, who had led the
filly to her stall,--

"You, there, strike the tents. Bring me the mare. This very day
she may bear me to forgiveness."

Trove brought the mare.

"Remember," said the old man, turning as he rode away, "in the day
o' the last judgment God 'll mind the look o' thy horse."

He rode on a few steps and halted, turning in the saddle.

"Thou, too, Phyllis," he called. "God 'll mind the look o' thy
master; see that ye bring him safe."

The little filly began to rear and call, the mother to answer. For
days she called and trembled, with wet eyes, listening for the
voice that still answered, though out of hearing, far over the
hills. And Trove, too, was lonely, and there was a kind of longing
in his heart for the music in that voice of the stranger.




IV