“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Olive, knitting her brows. “I presume now that the land is held in common?” “Yes, certainly, and the farm implements and the horses and cows,” answered Olive. “All those don’t really touch the question. You live in separate houses, I believe.” “Of course we do. I should hate not having my own little house. It would be like a hotel or a penitentiary for all to live under one roof. I wouldn’t do it for worlds. We have our home-life just like other people, but I should like to have a pony of my own, only I suppose my husband would not think it right to have a horse that was not a community-horse.” “What a confounded shame! I beg your pardon. You see I am rough. I mean, I think your husband ought to get you a pony, a nice well-trained lady’s pony, for you to ride, and not a big farm-horse.” “I should like one,” observed Olive simply, and then suddenly remembering that she was speaking to a stranger, she added hastily, “I mean it would be nice to have a horse always at hand, one not liable to be wanted for farm work.” “I just happen to know of an excellent animal that would suit you down to the ground. It belongs to Tom Mills, and he wants to sell it. It will go cheap too. If you would speak to your husband about it, I would bring it over for you to look at. Mills lives close to my house.” “No, pray don’t,” said Olive anxiously. “I am ever so much obliged to you, but I really ought not to have spoken about it.” “Very well,” said he, seeing she was distressed, “we’ll not pursue the subject further.” But in his own mind he reflected that were he in Weston’s place, he would have got that pony for his wife, principles or no principles, and it is highly probable that he would have done so. He left Olive and her saddle at her own door, refusing her invitation to enter, saying that he would avail himself of her permission to come some other day to see her. And she cordially invited him to do so, for was not hospitality one of the commonest virtues of the prairie, and surely Perfection City must not be behindhand in the practice thereof? CHAPTER VIII. MR. PERSEUS. When Olive got home, she was at first pleased to see that her husband had not come in, therefore he had not been made uneasy about her absence. Napoleon Pompey had caught Rebel and turned him into the pasture field, and was returning after that job when he met Olive near the hen-house. Napoleon Pompey grinned at her and remarked with relish: “Ole hoss, he done throw yer, den run clar ’way home.” “No, he didn’t,” retorted Olive, indignant at this slur upon her equestrian skill, “I just got off to change the saddle, and he ran away from me.” “Land!” said Napoleon Pompey, “an’ didn’t yer chuck yer reins roun’ yer arm?” “No, I forgot to,” confessed Olive. “Golly Ned!” said Napoleon Pompey with vast amusement. Olive felt annoyed and inquired stiffly where her husband was.