The old scholar raised his head and looked long at the girl. Her
splendid form, glowing with the rich life and strength of the
wilderness, showed in every line the proud old southern blood.
Could she learn to be a fine lady? Mr. Howitt thought of the women
of the cities, pale, sickly, colorless, hot-house posies, beside
this mountain flower. What would this beautiful creature be, had
she their training? What would she gain? What might she not lose?
Aloud he said, "My dear child, do you know what it is that you
ask?'

Sammy hung her head, abashed at his serious tone. "I 'lowed it
would be right smart trouble for you," she said. "But I could let
you have Brownie in pay; he ain't only five year old, and is as
sound as a button. He's all I've got, Mr. Howitt. But I'd be
mighty proud to swap him to you."

"My girl, my girl," said the shepherd, "you misunderstand me. I
did not mean that. It would be a pleasure to teach you. I was
thinking how little you realized what the real life of the city is
like, and how much you have that the 'fine ladies,' as you call
them, would give fortunes for, and how little they have after all
that could add one ray of brightness to your life."

Sammy laughed aloud, as she cried, "Me got anything that anybody
would want? Why, Dad, I ain't got nothin' but Brownie, and my
saddle, and--and that's all. I sure ain't got nothing to lose."

The man smiled in sympathy. Then slowly a purpose formed in his
mind. "And if you should lose, you will never blame me?" he said