Albert approached her.
"Beg pardon, Miss, was it you or me won the National?" he asked. "These 'ere genelmen say it was you."
"It was neither," replied the girl. "It was Four-Pound-the-Second. Come in with me, Albert. I want to change his bandages."
She reëntered the stable.
Albert followed at a distance, slow and sullen.
Boy entered the loose-box, and Billy Bluff rose to greet her with a yawn.
The door of the loose-box closed.
The girl bent to her task.
A hand was laid upon her shoulder.
She looked up sharply.
Jim Silver was standing above her, and the door was shut.
"It's you, is it?" she said.
He took her quivering life into his arms.
"Now," she sighed.
She raised her lips, and he laid his own upon them.
"Again," she said with closed eyes.
His own drank in her face.
"You've been a patient old man," she whispered.
"It was worth it," he answered.
"I'll make it so," she said. "Please God!" she added with delightful inconsequence. "I'm glad you didn't bet."
The great brown horse turned his head and breathed on them.
Boy disengaged, patting her hair. "I'm glad you didn't bet," she repeated.
"We shall have enough to farm on without that," he said. "And to breed a few 'chasers."
Her hand was moving up and down the horse's smooth, hard neck.
"I don't want to breed 'chasers," she said.
He laughed softly.
"Don't you?"
"No," she said. "I'm tired of it. I'm like mother. It's all right when you're quite young. But it doesn't last—if you've got anything in you. It's froth."
He nodded.
"You're right," he said. "What shall we breed?"
"Shire horses," the girl replied. "Great, strong, useful creatures that'll work all day and every day—"
"Bar Sunday," he said. "Remember grand-pa, please."
"—without a fuss," she continued, ignoring his impertinence, "shifting trucks, drawing the plough, and carrying the wheat, and come home tired of evenings with wet coats and healthy appetites."
"My old love," he said. "You're right, my dear, of course. But he's a beauty all the same."
"He is that," replied Boy, with a friendly slap.
They left the loose-box, Billy Bluff attending them.
Monkey Brand, his back ostentatiously toward them, was on watch at the door.
He heard them coming down the gangway and turned shyly.
Then he touched his hat.
The girl took his hand and shook it with a will.
Jim Silver followed suit.
"Very please, Miss, I'm sure," gulped the old jockey.
The little man drew Silver mysteriously aside.
"Only one thing, sir," he said. "That little mistake o' yours about the copper's nark. I'm goin' to forgetallabout that now."
"Thank you, Brand," answered Jim earnestly. "We all make mistakes, don't we?"
"That's right, sir," said Monkey. "Only that's a mistake I never made—and never would."
Some of the lads were still hanging about the yard. They knew, too. Maudie knew. Even the fan-tails, splashing in mid-air, were not deceived.
Albert came forward and ventured a shy and sullen word of congratulation.
"That hundred thousand you won for me made it possible, no doubt," replied Silver gravely.
Albert was still on his pinnacle.
"Very glad to 'elp in such a good cause, sir," he answered. "Only one thing, if I might make so bold: I 'ope you won't forget young Jerry's alf-dollar come Christmas. Means a lot to a little feller like that."
The pair passed out into the Paddock Close.
Old Mat and his missus were coming down the hill from church.
The young couple strolled to meet them.
"He's been making amends for what he did amiss at Liverpool, dad has," said Mrs. Woodburn comfortably.
Mat lifted a dull eye to the blue.
"Yes," he said. "I put a sovereign in the plate. That should square the account, de we, accordin' to my reckonin'."
He pursed his lips firmly, almost defiantly, as he looked the heavens in the face.
A sudden shyness fell on the little group.
Then Boy went to her mother, lifted the old lady's veil, and kissed her.
"Mother," she said.
Mrs. Woodburn took Jim Silver's hand in both of hers, and kneaded it in just the way her daughter would do in moments of deep emotion.
She said nothing, but her eyes were beautiful.
Old Mat swallowed, touched his hat, and looked away.
"That's a little bit o' better," he muttered to himself.
A minute later the old man was walking down the hill, Mrs. Woodburn on his arm.
The young couple strolled on up the slope.
Boy looked across the Paddock Close to Joses's window.
Mrs. Boam was pulling up the blind, and the sun was pouring in splendid torrents on to the dead man within.
The girl was glad.
They came to the quiet church.
"Shall we go in?" she said.
"Let's," he answered.
Together they entered the silence and stood looking up toward the Figure in the dim east window.
Mr. Haggard, in his cassock, was arranging the narcissi on the altar.
As he saw them, he turned and came slowly down the aisle in the quiet.
For Boy it was almost as if the Figure in the window had come to life and was drawing near to her and Jim.
THE END
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS GARDEN CITY, N.Y.