"See how pale is this butter, how thin this cream
compared to what you offer me at the parsonage."
The horses came round at last, Mr. Johnstone's bay mare with them; he
would certainly accompany them home.
Indeed it seemed as if this evening he could not tear himself away, he
lingered on and on, and it grew quite dark, and the moon rose over the
snow, and the stars shone out one by one.
Supper was over, Mistress Mary long since gone home. It was nine
o'clock--Mr. Johnstone must go. Mr. Ives sat quiet in his deep chair,
the warmth and the comfort entered into his soul, and he slept.
"Come with me to the door, sweet Bet," said John lingeringly.
"Yes, even farther than that," she said, and she caught up her fur
cloak, threw it round her, and followed him out to the garden gate. The
crisp snow crackled pleasantly under foot.
Old Isaac, who held the bay mare, left them when he had given the bridle
into her master's hand.
"They will be wishing to kiss, mayhap," he muttered to himself, "and
I'll not stand in their way, God bless them!"
John Johnstone mounted. He looked up to the sky and said, "It is later
than I thought. I have a long ride before me to-night, sweetheart. I
have business near Newbury. I had meant to go home and change the bay
mare for my faithful Seagull, but it is too late.
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