“The horse is in the pasture.” Mr. Campbell turned to the child. “Can’t you run and show him where the bridle is?” Bareheaded, she bounded down the steps, and motioned to the old negro to follow. She took the bridle and swung it over his arm. “Mind the foot log. Uncle Sandy, the hand rail has been washed away. The pasture is over the creek. There is Selam now, under the sweet gum tree.” She pointed. “You will find the harness in the carriage house here.” She watched him go over the slope to the creek, then stood gazing about her in childish contemplation. It was nearly noon. The shadow straightening in the doorway indicated it. Mr. Campbell looked and saw her. His heart warmed toward her comeliness; moreover she was sweet of nature and had a ready smile even for those who had not been kind to her. Suddenly she disappeared in the direction of the carriage house. She feared that her pony could not pull the heavy vehicle that alone was left to take her to the University. It taxed her strength to draw the heavy bar from across the carriage house door. She sprang backward, as she dropped it upon the ground; then went in to examine the carriage that had not been used since she was a baby, almost fifteen years before. The clumsy conveyance had small iron steps that let down--steps that her mother’s child feet had pressed in climbing to the seat. The wheels were so heavy and cumbersome that she shook her head doubtfully. The green satin lining was in shreds; the worn leather seats covered with tufts of hair, while here and there a dead leaf or twig was tangled in its coarse mesh. It had required a pair to draw it in those old days. She had forgotten that. The tongue was held up in its position above by a girder in the loft. Esther gave it a strong, hard pull; the tongue fell forward, and as she skipped out of its path the lumbering old carriage went rolling down the incline, and clouds of dust, as though indignant at being disturbed, sullenly rose and fell about her. Old and dilapidated harness that hung down from the walls swayed slowly in the general commotion. Esther wiped the dust from her eyes and drew a long breath, looking defiantly at the result. She looked down. There, at her feet, lay a bird, fluttering beside its fallen nest. Her face lost its look of defiance. “You poor, little thing,” bending down and cuddling it to the softness of her cheek. “Don’t die, please, don’t die!” she said, in dismay. “It will break my heart if I have killed you.” With tears streaming down her face she ran swiftly to the house. “Grandpa, do something for it,” laying it in his hand. “Can you save it? It’s a mocking bird, too. I shook it out of the carriage.” “They have nested there for years,” he said as he drew the wings gently through his fingers. “They are not broken,” he assured her. “Are you sure it will live?” She was looking at him with frightened eyes.