“I knew her slightly,” replied Waddy, in a tone the reverse of encouraging. “It’s a bad thing to have intimacies with second-rate women. If you have a saddle,” he continued, “that will fit my horse, I’ll ride him in to town now. By the way, what shall I name him? He’s as black as death--‘mors, pallida mors’--that’s it--Pallid! I’ll call him by rule of contraries. Pal, for short; we shall be pals, eh, old boy?” and he caressed the horse, who responded in kind, instinctively knowing a friend. Pallid was larger than Cecilia, but her saddle was well enough for the short ride. Tootler was obliged to be in the wool again early. Jefferson Davis not being present to preside over the cavalry, the gardener laid down the shovel and the hoe and took up the curry-comb. Pallid was, of course, resplendent for the sale, as a bride is when her bargain is ratified. Waddy was proud of his acquisition. Every fine fellow has something of the caballero in his nature. My friend, Misogynist, says a horse is the most beautiful animal. “Woman! glorious woman!” I suggest enthusiastically. “Good to look at,” M. admits, “but bad to go. Be kind to the horse, and he is grateful and will not try to harm you. But woman--the more you let her have her head, the more she will try to throw you. Bah! my kingdom for a horse; he shall be king; no bedizened woman sovereign for me! Look at his smooth, brilliant coat--no pomade there! See that easy motion; _incedat rex_. Think of his simple toilet! two blankets, thick and thin. Yes, noble comrade! I will be no carpet knight, nor dwindle away with ridiculous sighs before shrines of plastic dough images, or of models of brassiness, but with thee will I away over boundlessness. Plains vast as the sea await our gallop. Charge!” So far Misogynist--I will add that of the two classes of animals, horses are cheaper to keep, and when you have them, are yours, and not the property of the first admirer. The gardener brought Cecilia to the door, shining from her morning toilet. Lady Cecilia, with the lesser lady, came to bid the guest adieu. Lady and child bore flowers of midsummer to be _rus in urbe_ for the gentlemen. Cecilia was charming in her morning dress. As she said good-bye, the sparkle of her brown eyes was brighter, the blush warmer, the voice more musical, the shy tremor of friendliness more graceful. “Happy Tootler!” thought Waddy; “one of the rare few who are appointed to be illustrations to others of happiness.” “You will come again soon,” said Cecilia. “A room in our house has become yours. You must inhabit it to keep ghosts from colonising. You too, perhaps, are in some danger of companionship of glooms, which are certainly as bad as ghosts. Come here always and we will sing them away. I have a dozen plans for you already for summer and winter--and then I intend you for a husband for little Cissy here. What do you think of it, Cissy?” “I hardly know, mamma,” said Cissy seriously. “I should wish to ask papa.”