and it is only charitable to suppose that the clause, which was
in the body of the will, was written while Stella was in her prime,
and before she had suffered at the paws of the Gausdale Bruin. But even
granting that, one could scarcely help suspecting malice aforethought in
the curious provision. To Unna the gift was meant to say, as plainly as
possible, "There, you see what you have lost by disobeying your father!
If you had married according to his wishes, you would have been able to
accept the gift, while now you are obliged to decline it like a beggar."

But if it was Lars Moe's intention to convey such a message to his
daughter, he failed to take into account his daughter's spirit. She
appeared plainly but decently dressed at the reading of the will, and
carried her head not a whit less haughtily than was her wont in her
maiden days. She exhibited no chagrin when she found that Janson was
her father's heir and that she was disinherited. She even listened with
perfect composure to the reading of the clause which bequeathed to her
the broken-down mare.

It at once became a matter of pride with her to accept her girlhood's
favorite, and accept it she did! And having borrowed a side-saddle, she
rode home, apparently quite contented. A little shed, or lean-to, was
built in the rear of the house, and Stella became a member of Thorkel
Tomlevold's family. Odd as it may seem, the fortunes of the family took
a turn for the better from the day she arrived; Thorkel rarely came home
without big game, and in his traps he caught more than any three other
men in all the parish.

"The mare has brought us luck," he said to his wife. "If she can't
plough, she can at all events pull the sleigh to church; and you have as
good a right as any one to put on airs, if you choose."

"Yes, she has brought us blessing," replied Unna, quietly; "and we are
going to keep her till she dies of old age."

To the children Stella became a pet, as much as if she had been a dog
or a cat. The little boy Lars climbed all over her, and kissed her
regularly good-morning when she put her handsome head in through the
kitchen-door to get her lump of sugar. She was as gentle as a lamb and
as intelligent as a dog. Her great brown eyes, with their soft, liquid
look, spoke as plainly as words could speak, expressing pleasure when
she was patted; and the low neighing with which she greeted the little
boy, when she heard his footsteps in the door, was to him l