"Nothin' to speak of; a few buttons, and a thing or two. But I say, Mr.
Gilbert, what luck ha' _you_ had?" She had been keenly and curiously
inspecting his face.

"Deborah!" he exclaimed, "you're a false prophet! You told me that,
whatever happened, I was safe from Sandy Flash."

"Eh?"

There was a shrill tone of surprise and curiosity in this exclamation.

"You ought to know Sandy Flash better, before you prophesy in his name,"
Gilbert repeated, in a stern voice.

"Oh, Mr. Gilbert, tell me what you mean?" She grasped his leg with one
hand, while she twisted the other in Roger's mane, as if to hold both
horse and rider until the words were explained.

Thereupon he related to her in a brief, fierce way, all that had
befallen him. Her face grew red and her eyes flashed; she shook her fist
and swore under her breath, from time to time, while he spoke.

"You'll be righted, Mr. Gilbert!" she then cried, "you'll be righted,
never fear! Leave it to me! Haven't I always kep' my word to you? You're
believin' I lied the last time, and no wonder; but I'll prove the truth
o' my words yet--may the Devil git my soul, if I don't!"

"Don't think that I blame you, Deborah," he said. "You were too sure of
my good luck, because you wished me to have it--that's all."