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"Well, no. It's the horse he captured the time he got the Yankee who had him prisoner."

"Then Ned Ferry doesn't drink?"

I took up my pen, and until twilight we spoke thereafter only of abstracts and requisitions. But then he led me on to tell him all about myself. I explained why my first name was Richard and my second name Thorndyke, and dwelt especially on the enormous differences between the Smiths from whom we were and those from whom we were not descended.

"Good-morning," we said. One of the men was a sergeant. He scanned my animal, and then me, with a dawning smile. "That's a fightin'-cock of a horse you've got, sonny."

开心网

His smile darkened. "I am your prisoner," he said, with a sudden splendid stateliness, and right then I guessed who he was.

I prompted Camille to ask if he had ever encountered Ned Ferry, and he laughed.

Yet great is precept. Precept is a well. Up from its far depths by slow, humble, constant process you may draw, in a slender silver thread, and store for sudden use, the pure waters of character.

"Neither was Lieutenant Ferry," she dryly responded, "yet I have it from him."

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