her an apple or lump of sugar, or carry her a bunch of clover. The mare would follow her about like a cat.
Another attraction at the barn for them was Becky Sharpe, Ben's setter. She came to Marion one morning wagging her tail, seized her dress, and led her into an empty stall, where beneath the trough lay sleeping snugly ten little white-and-black spotted puppies.
The girl had never seen such a sight before and went into ecstasies. Becky wagged her tail with pride at her compliments. Every morning she would pull her gently into the stall just to hear her talk and laugh and pet her babies.
Whatever election day meant to the men, to Marion it was one of unalloyed happiness: she was to ride horseback alone and dance at her first ball. Ben had taught her to ride, and told her she could take Queen to Lover's Leap and back alone. Trembling with joy, her beautiful face wreathed in smiles, she led the mare to the pond in the edge of the lot and watched her drink its pure spring water.
When he helped her to mount in front of the hotel under her mother's gaze, and saw her ride out of the gate, with the exquisite lines of her little figure melting into the graceful lines of the mare's glistening form, he exclaimed:
"I declare, I don't know which is the prettier, Marion or Queen!"
"I know," was the mother's soft answer.
"They are both thoroughbreds," said Ben, watching them admiringly.
