"You have won your plum, if it is Sunday. I shall try all the other horses, however, and thus learn to value correctly the expressions of affection I have received from these long-nosed gentlemen." One after another they munched on, regardless of the clover. Step by step she came nearer to me, smiling and frowning at her want of success. My heart thrilled at a beauty that was so unconventional and so utterly self-forgetful. The blooming clover, before it fell at a sweep of the scythe, was the fit emblem of her then, she looked so young, so fair, and sweet. "They are as bad as men," she exclaimed, "who will forgive any wrong rather than an interruption at dinner." She now stood at my side before Old Plod, that thus far, in his single-minded attention to his oats, had seemingly forgotten her presence; but, as he lifted his head from the manger and saw her, he took a step forward, and reached his great brown nose toward her, rather than for the clover. In brief, he said, in his poor dumb way: "I like you better than hay or oats." The horse's simple, undisguised affection, for some reason, touched the girl deeply; for she dropped the hay and threw her arm around the horse's head, leaning her face against his. I saw a tear in her eye as she murmured: "You have more heart than all the rest put together. I don't believe any one was ever kind to you before, and you've been a bit lonely, like myself." Then she led the way hastily out of the barn, saying, "Old Plod and I are sworn friends from this time forth; and I shall take your advice, Old Plod." I was soon at her side, and asked: "What advice did Old Plod give you?" For some inexplicable reason she colored deeply, then laughed as she said: "It's rarely wise to think aloud; but impulsive people will do it sometimes. I suppose we all occasionally have questions to decide that to us are perplexing and important, though of little consequence to the world. Come; if we are to see the old garden, we must make the most of the fading light. After my interview with Old Plod, I can't descend to cows and pigs; so good-by, Mr. Yocomb." CHAPTER X A BIT OF EDEN "This is my first entrance into Eden," I said, as we passed through the rustic gate made of cedar branches and between posts green with American ivy. "Like another man, you won't stay here long." "Like Adam, I shall certainly go out when you do." "That will be before very long, since I have promised Mr. Yocomb some music." "Even though a Bohemian editor, as you may think, I am conscious of a profound gratitude to some beneficent power, for I never could have chosen so wisely myself. I might have been in Sodom and Gomorrah--for New York in contrast seems a union of both--receiving reports of the crimes and casualties of the day, but I am here with this garden in the foreground and music in the background." "You don't know anything about the music, and you may yet wish it so far in the background as to be inaudible."