“He is certainly a good animal, I should like to own him; but, all around, I believe I prefer ‘Bridal Bells.’ To own one good racer is a pleasure. I take moderate, not excessive, interest in races,” explained Frost. “It is rather an expensive luxury, if you only view it from the standpoint of pleasure and pride.” “Oh, when we can afford these things, it is all very well, I have always been extravagant, self-indulgent,” and he took out his pocket book. “I must have her,” counting out a big roll of bills and laying them in the Major’s hand. “There is your price for my queen.” And “Bridal Bells” had a new master. CHAPTER X. THE BIRTH-MARK. Like most Southerners, Major McDowell had the happy faculty of entertaining his guests royally. The New Yorker was there for the day, at the kind solicitation of the Major and his most estimable wife. Afternoon brought a rimming haze; the wind had hushed, and the thick, lifeless air bespoke rain. A cloud no bigger than a man’s hand had gathered at low-sky; then mounted, swelling, to the zenith, and wrapped the heavens in a pall and covered the earth’s face with darkness that was fearfully illumined by the lightning’s glare. Host and guest stood by an open window looking to the southward. Rain came down, pelting the earth with a sheeted fall that soon sent muddy runnels adown every fresh furrow. Before the rain was half over, horses were led from their stalls to the dripping freedom of wide pasture lands. How green, and still, and sweet-smelling it lies. No wonder the animals ran ecstatically about, neighing, prancing, nipping one at the other, snatching lush, tender mouthfuls between rolls on the soft, wet turf. “A goodly sight, Major; I see that you have peculiar advantages of soil and climate for stock-raising,” remarked the guest. “That must be true, and it is a recognition of that superiority that sends breeders from all parts of the world to Kentucky. ‘Kentucky for fine horses, good whiskey, and pretty women,’ is a maxim old and doubtless true.” “I can vouch for the first two, but it has not been my luck to meet many of your fair women.” “Well, it is proof true,” said the Major; “look for yourself,” and he pointed to the forest lawn where a young woman was coming between the elm rows, a child’s hand in each of her own. Her figure preserved that girlish accent which few women manage to carry over into womanhood. She had blonde-brown hair, and blue eyes--very dark and tender. She looked up as she passed the window, and was none the less charming for her startled look. The quick averted glance sent a blush to the face of Willard Frost. Some imagine that only virgins blush; that is a mistake. A blush signifies but a change in the circulation of the blood; animals can blush. The rabbit is so sensitive that its ears are dyed crimson at the least sudden impression. “That is Cherokee Bell, the prettiest of them all; yes, and the best.” The Major’s tone was deep and earnest.