The sunniest place upon the hillside was the little pasture in which the
old mare was grazing, moving slowly about and nipping at the short grass
as if that which lay directly under her nose could not be nearly as choice
as that which she could obtain by constant perambulation.

A blithe voice awoke the echoes with a fragment of an old song. The mare
looked up and gave a welcoming whinny as Randy Weston, Squire Weston's
daughter, crossed the pasture, her pink sunbonnet hanging from her arm by
its strings.

"Glad to see me, Snowfoot?" asked Randy as she laid a caressing hand upon
the mare's neck and looked into the soft eyes which seemed to express a
world of love for the girl who never allowed a friendly whinny to pass
unnoticed.

"My! but this August sun is hot," said Randy, vigorously wielding her
sunbonnet for a fan.

"And before we can turn 'round it will be September, and then there'll be
lessons to learn, yes, and plenty of work to be done if I mean to keep the
promise I made myself when I won the prize in June.

"A five dollar gold piece for being the best scholar, Snowfoot, and to
think that I haven't yet decided what to do with it!

"I've spent it, in my mind a dozen times already, and to-day I'm no nearer
to knowing _just_ what I'd rather do with it than on the day it was given
me. Did you ever know anything so silly?"