in order to put on her mittens, and the blinded mare quickly dropping
her head, the rein slipped instantly to the animal's ears. The latter
perceived her advantage, and began snuffing along the edges of the road
in a deliberate search for spring grass. In vain Sally called and
kicked; the mare provokingly preserved her independence. Finally, a
piteous appeal to Gilbert, who had pretended not to notice the dilemma,
and was a hundred yards in advance, was Sally's only resource. The two
halted and enjoyed her comical helplessness.

"That's enough, Gilbert," said Martha Deane, presently, "go now and pick
up the rein."

He rode back, picked it up, and handed it to Sally without speaking.

"Gilbert," she said, with a sudden demure change of tone, as they rode
on to where Miss Deane was waiting, "come and take supper with us, at
home. Martha has promised. You've hardly been to see us in a month."

"You know how much I have to do, Sally," he answered. "It isn't only
that, to-day being a Saturday; but I've promised mother to be at home
by dark, and fetch a quarter of tea from the store."

"When you've once promised, I know, oxen couldn't pull you the other
way."

"I don't often see your mother, Gilbert," said Martha Deane; "she is
well?"

"Thank you, Martha,--too well, and yet not well enough."