end the full import of
her words, she added: "Yours to keep, I mean. You must make another
Bessie Belle out of her."

"MINE? Oh--ma'am'" Law turned his eyes from Alaire to the mare, then
back again. "You're too kind. I can't take her."

"You must."

Dave made as if to say something, but was too deeply embarrassed.
Unable to tear himself away from the mare's side, he continued to
stroke her shining coat while she turned an intelligent face to him,
showing a solitary white star in the center of her forehead.

"See! She is nearly the same color as Bessie Belle."

"Yes'm! I--I want her, ma'am; I'm just sick from wanting her,
but--won't you let me buy her?"

"Oh, I wouldn't sell her." Then, as Dave continued to yearn over the
animal, like a small boy tempted beyond his strength, Alaire laughed.
"I owe you something, Mr. Law, and a horse more or less means very
little to me."

He yielded; he could not possibly continue his resistance, and in his
happy face Alaire took her reward.

The mare meanwhile was doubtfully nosing her new master, deciding
whether or not she liked him; but when he offered her a cube of sugar
her uncertainties disappeared and they became friends then and there.
He talked to her, too, in a way that would have won any female heart,
and it was plain to any one who knew horses that she began to consider
him wholly delightful. Now, Montrosa was a sad coquette, but this man
seemed to say, "Rosa, you rogue, if you try your airs with me I will
out-flirt you." Who could resist such a person? Why, the touch of his
hands was positively thrilling. He was gentle, but masterful, and--he
had a delicious smell. Rosa felt that she understood him perfectly, and
was enraptured to discover that he understood her. There was some
satisfaction in knowing such a man.

"You DO speak their language," Alaire said, after she had watched them
for a few minutes. "You have bewitched the creature." Dave nodded
silently, and his face was young. Then half to herself the woman
murmured, "Yes, you have a heart."

"I beg pardon?"

"Nothing. I'm glad you like her."

"Do you mind if I call her something else than Rosa, just to myself?"

"Why, she's yours! Don't you like the name?"

"Oh yes! But--see!" Dave laid a finger upon Montrosa's forehead. "She
wears a lone star, and I'd like to call her that--The Lone Star."

Alaire smiled in tacit assent; then when the two friends had completely
established their intimacy she mount