lp for it, nothing could be done; the mare had taken her determined,
long, continuous stride, the road was a straight, steady descent all
the way back to the village, Chu Chu had the bit between her teeth, and
there was no prospect of swerving her. We could only follow hopelessly,
idiotically, furiously, until Chu Chu dashed triumphantly into the
Saltellos' courtyard, carrying the half-fainting Consuelo back to the
arms of her assembled and astonished family.

It was our last ride together. It was the last I ever saw of Consuelo
before her transfer to the safe seclusion of a convent in Southern
California. It was the last I ever saw of Chu Chu, who in the confusion
of that _rencontre_[172-1] was overlooked in her half-loosed harness
and allowed to escape through the back gate to the fields. Months
afterwards it was said that she had been identified among a band of
wild horses in the Coast Range, as a strange and beautiful creature who
had escaped the brand of the _rodeo_ and had become a myth. There was
another legend that she had been seen, sleek, fat, and gorgeously
caparisoned, issuing from the gateway of the Rosario _patio_,[172-2]
before a lumbering Spanish _cabriole_[172-3] in which a short, stout
matron was seated--but I will have none of it. For there are days when
she still lives, and I can see her plainly still climbing the gentle
slope towards the summit, with Consuelo on her back and myself at her
side, pressing eagerly forward towards the illimitable prospect that
opens in the distance.

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE

Feathertop

A MORALIZED LEGEND

"Dickon," cried Mother Rigby, "a coal for my pipe!"

The pipe was in the old dame's mouth when she said these words. She had
thrust it there after filling it with tobacco but without stooping to
light it at the hearth where, indeed, there was no appearance of a fire
having been kindled that morning. Forthwith, however, as soon as the
order was given, there was an intense red glow out of the bowl of the
pipe and a whiff of smoke from Mother Rigby's lips. Whence the coal
came and how brought hither by an invisible hand, I have never been
able to discover.

"Good!" quoth Mother Rigby, with a nod of her head. "Thank ye, Dickon!
And now for making this scarecrow. Be within call, Dickon, in case I
need you again."

The good woman had risen thus early (for as yet it was scarcely
sunrise) in order to set about making a scarecrow, which she intended
to put in th