ar with which already she had come to associate the frequent
visits of these new friends. She was a pretty, well-made, little mare,
light sorrel, with white markings, and with a slender, intelligent face.

Hilary stood motionless, too surprised to speak.

"Her name's Bedelia," Patience said, doing the honors. "She's very
clever, she knows us all already. Fanny hasn't been very polite to
her, and she knows it--Bedelia does, I mean--sometimes, when Fanny
isn't looking, I've caught Bedelia sort of laughing at her--and I don't
blame her one bit. And, oh, Hilary, she can go--there's no need to 'hi
yi' her."

"But--" Hilary turned to Pauline.

"Uncle Paul sent her," Pauline explained. "She came last Saturday
afternoon. One of the men from Uncle Paul's place in the country
brought her. She was born and bred at River Lawn--that's Uncle Paul's
place--he says."

Hilary stroked the glossy neck gently, if Pauline had said the Sultan
of Turkey, instead of Uncle Paul, she could hardly have been more
surprised. "Uncle Paul--sent her to you!" she said slowly.

"To _us_."

"Bless me, that isn't all he sent," Patience exclaimed. It seemed to
Patience that they never would get to the end of their story. "You
just come look at this, Hilary Shaw!" she ran on through the opening
connecting carriage-house with stable.

"Oh!" Hilary cried, following with Pauline.

Beside the minister's shabby old gig, stood the smartest of smart
traps, and hanging on the wall behind it, a pretty russet harness, with
silver mountings.

Hilary sat down on an old saw horse; she felt again as though she must
be dreaming.

"There isn't another such cute rig in town, Jim says so," Patience
said. Jim was the stable boy. "It beats Bell Ward's all to pieces."

"But why--I mean, how did Uncle Paul ever come to send it to us?"
Hilary said. Of course one had always known that there
was--somewhere--a person named Uncle Paul; but he had appeared about as
remote and indefinite a being as--that same Sultan of Turkey, for
instance.

"After all, why shouldn't he?" Pauline answered.

"But I don't believe he would've if Paul had not written to him that
time," Patience added. "Maybe next time I tell you anything, you'll
believe me, Hilary Shaw."

But Hilary was staring at Pauline. "You didn't write to Uncle Paul?"

"I'm afraid I did."

"Was--was that the letter--you remember, that afternoon?"

"I rather think I do remember."

"Paul, how did