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Old Dismukes rose. "Good-night. Shall I send this boy that Yankee's horse?"

My whole nature was upheaved. You may smile, but my plight was awful. In the sultry night I grew cold. My bridle-hand, still lying under her palm, turned and folded its big stupid fingers over hers. Then our hands slid apart and we rode back. "I wish I were good enough to know the stars," she said, gazing up. "Tell me some of them."

The thunder of our own hoofs Was all the sound we heard.

He hiccoughed. "Let's--s'--see y' orders."

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