even as Pat tad learned something, and thereafter
there existed tacit understanding between
them.

The seasons passed, and the third year came,
and with it the beginning of the end of Pat's loneliness.
One morning late in June he was aroused
by the voice of the Mexican, who, with brushes
and currycomb in hand, had come to clean him.
Pat was in need of just this cleaning. Though
wallowing but little, leaving that form of exercise
to the older horses, he nevertheless was gritty
with sand from swirling spring winds. So he stood
very still under the hostler's vigorous attention.
But Miguel's ambition did not stop here. He
turned to the other horses and curried and brushed
them also, working till the perspiration streamed
from him. But this was not the end. He set to
work in the stable, and scraped and cleaned to
the last corner, and rubbed and scoured to the
smallest harness buckle. It was all very unusual,
and Pat, standing attentive throughout it all,
revealed marked interest and something of surprise.
Soon he was to know the reason.

Along toward noon, as he was feeding at the
box, he saw a very dignified young woman leave
the house, cross the _patio_ in his direction, and come
to a stop immediately outside the fence. Though
the feed-box always held his interest above all
other things, and though it was strongly attracting
him now, he nevertheless could not resist the
attention with which this young woman regarded
him. He returned her gaze steadily, wondering

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v?