But to this
little female it had never happened before.
It was all beautifully elemental. As does not too often happen,
two souls as well as two bodies were drawn towards each other by
the Magnet of Being. When he had exhibited himself for a minute
or two he came back to her, breathing fast and glowing.
"My pony in Scotland does that. His name is Chieftain. He is a
Shetland pony and he is only that high," he measured forty inches
from the ground. "I'm called Donal. What are you called?"
"Robin," she answered, her lips and voice trembling with joy. He
was so beautiful. His hair was bright and curly. His broad forehead
was clear white where he had pushed back his bonnet with the eagle
feather standing upright on it. His strong legs and knees were
white between his tartan kilt and his rolled back stockings. The
clasps which held his feather and the plaid over his shoulder were
set with fine stones in rich silver. She did not know that he was
perfectly equipped as a little Highland chieftain, the head of
his clan, should be.
They began to play together, and the unknown Fates, which do their
work as they choose, so wrought on this occasion as to cause
Andrews' friend to set forth upon a journey through a story so
exciting in its nature that its hearer was held spellbound and
oblivious to her surroundings themselves. Once, it is true, she
rose as in a dream and walked round the group of shrubs, but the
Fates had arranged for that moment also.
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