So saying she uprose from the wheel and took a snowy skein from the reel on the table, and adjusted it upon her mother’s outstretched hands. “Sukey and I could do this after supper, Peggy,” expostulated the matron. “I like not to have thee confined too closely to work, albeit I would not have thee idle.” “Mother, thee knows that thee likes to have me excel in housewifery, and how can I do so unless I practice the art? I cannot become notable save by doing, can I?” questioned the maiden archly, her slim figure looking very graceful as she stood winding the yarn with nimble fingers. “I shall take the air when I have finished winding this ball, if it will please thee; though”—and a shadow dimmed the brightness of her face—“I like not to go out in the grounds since Star hath gone. How strange it is that something should happen to both the pets that father gave me! Pilot, my dog, was shot, and now my pony is stolen. Dost think I will ever hear of her, mother?” “It hath been some time since thou didst advertise, Peggy, hath it not?” “Yes, mother. Three long se’nnights.” “And in all that time there hath come no word or sign of her.” The lady hesitated a moment, and then continued: “Dear child, I fear that thou wilt see no more of thy pretty horse. But take comfort in the thought that though the gift hath been taken from thee the giver hath not. David is well, and in good spirits. That is much to be thankful for, Peggy.” “It is, mother. Dear father! would he were home for all time.” Without further remonstrance Peggy went out under the trees. A slight chill was in the air, for it was drawing toward evening. Summer’s spell was released, and the sere decadence of the year was sweetly and sadly going on. Up and down the neglected alleys of the garden she strolled, pausing ever and anon to admire the scarlet fire of the late poppies. Almost unconsciously her feet turned in the direction of the stable, a place to which she made daily pilgrimages since the loss of her pet. As she drew near the building the unmistakable sound of a low whinny broke upon the air. A startled look swept across the girl’s face, and she stopped short in astonishment. “That sounded like Star,” she exclaimed. “Mother was right in thinking that I needed the air. I must not sit so long again at the wheel. I——” But another and louder whinny broke upon her ear, and full of excitement Peggy flung wide the door, and darted within. “Oh, Star! Star!” she cried throwing her arms about the pony’s neck, for the mare was really standing in her stall. “Where did thee come from? Who brought thee? And where hast thou been?” But the little mare could only whinny her delight, and rub her soft nose against her mistress’s sleeve. “Thou dear thing!” cried the girl rapturously. “Is thee glad to get back? Does thee want some sugar? Oh, how did thee get here? Thee doesn’t look as though thee had had much to eat. Poor thing! Couldn’t they even groom thee?” “Mistress!”