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"If they could only hear us now!" murmurs Geoffrey, addressing no one in particular. "I didn't make up the mare, miss, before comin' out wid ye," he says, mildly, telling this lie without a blush. "Something," replies he, with a short laugh. "I shall at least see you again on the 19th.".
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Running over to the river that flows swiftly but serenely a few yards from her, she leans over the bank and gazes down lingeringly and with love into the dark depths beneath that cast up to her her own fair image. But the deer began to grumble and said, "Well, it is true that out here on the prairie you have beaten me, but this is not where I live. I only come out here once in a while to feed or to cross the prairie when I am going somewhere. It would be fairer if we had a race in the timber. That is my home, and there I can run faster than you. I am sure of it." So determined is her aspect that Geoffrey shows the white feather, and, crying "mea culpa," beats a hasty retreat. "Oh! at home, you know," says Mr. Rodney, quickly, discovering his mistake. For the moment he had forgotten his former declaration of poverty, or, at least, his consenting silence, when she had asked him about it..
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