But that pedigree of my people is straight. There isn't a
cold cross on either side. I know I amount to nothing myself," he
continued, bitterly, his eyes resting gloomily on the floor; "I'm only a
no-account old selling-plater, and I'll just go back to the stable, where I
belong." Here an unusual sound interrupted him, and he looked up. The girl,
with her head on her arm, was leaning against the mantel, sobbing quietly.
In a moment he forgot all about himself and snatched up her disengaged
hand.
"Do you really care?" he cried, pressing the fluttering little hand in both
of his.
She lifted up her face, the soft brown eyes swimming in tears. "I wouldn't
mind," she replied, half laughing and half sobbing--"I wouldn't mind at all
about the pedigree, and I know you're not an old selling-plater; but if you
were, I am very sure that I would care for you."
The Lexington meeting was over, and the horsemen were scattered far and
wide, from Chicago to Sheepshead Bay. Colonel Bill alone remained behind.
As the days passed and he made no preparation to depart, old Elias's
irritation grew apace, and the lives of the stable-boys under the
increasing rigor of his rule became almost unendurable.
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