The Queen of Sheba & My Cousin the Colonel B0082RD4EM

merely purposed to ride on and on until I got tired, and then ride home again. The weather was beautiful, and for the first three or four days I never enjoyed myself better in my life. The flowers were growing, the birds were singing—the robins in the sunshine and the whippoorwills at dusk—and the hours were not long enough for me. At night I slept in a tumble-down barn, or anywhere, like a born tramp. I had a mountain brook for a wash-basin and the west wind for a towel. Sometimes I invited myself to a meal at a farm-house when there wasn't a tavern handy; and when there wasn't any farm-house, and I was very hungry, I lay down under a tree and read in a book of poems."
    "Oh, that was just delightful!" said Ruth, knitting the fingers of both hands over one knee and listening to him with a child-like abandon which Lynde found bewitching.
    "On the fourth day—there are some persons crossing on the ice," said
Lynde, interrupting himself.
    "Never mind the persons on the ice!"
    "On the fourth day I came to a wild locality among the Ragged Mountains, where there was not a human being nor a house to be seen. I had got up before breakfast was ready that morning, and I was quite anxious to see the smoke curling up from some kitchen chimney. Here, as I mounted a hill-side, the saddle-girth broke, and I jumped off to fix it. Somehow, I don't know precisely how, the horse gave a plunge, jerked the reins out of my hands, and started on a dead run for Rivermouth."
    "That wasn't very pleasant," suggested Ruth.
    "Not a bit. I couldn't catch the animal, and I had the sense not to try. I climbed to the brow of the hill and was not sorry to see a snug village lying in the valley."
    "What village was that?"
    "I don't know to this day—with any certainty. I didn't find out then, and afterwards I didn't care to learn. Well, I shouldered my traps and started for the place to procure another horse, not being used to going under the saddle myself. I had a hard time before I got through; but that I shall not tell you about. On my way to the village I met a young girl. This young girl is the interesting part of the business."
    "She always is, you know."
    "She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen—up to that time. She was dressed all in white, and looked like an angel. I expected she would spread wing and vanish before I could admire her half enough; but she did not. The moment she saw me she walked straight to the spot where I stood, and looked me squarely in the face."
    "Wasn't that rather rude—for an angel?"
    "You wouldn't have thought so. She did it like a young goddess with the supreme prerogative to flash herself that way on mortals by the roadside."
    "Oh, she was a young goddess as well as an angel."
    "After she had looked me in the eye a second," continued Lynde, not heeding the criticism, "she said—what do you suppose she said?"
    "How can I imagine?"
    "You could not, in a thousand years. Instead of saying, 'Good-morning, sir,' and dropping me a courtesy, she made herself very tall and said, with quite a grand air, 'I am the Queen of Sheba!' Just fancy it. Then she turned on her heel and ran up the road."
    "Oh, that was very rude. Is this a true story, Mr. Lynde?"
    "That is the sad part of it, Miss Ruth. This poor child had lost her reason, as I learned subsequently. She had wandered out of an asylum in the neighborhood. After a while some men came and took her back again— on my horse, which they had captured in the road."
    "The poor, poor girl! I am sorry for her to the heart. Your story began like a real romance; is that all of it! It is sad enough."
    "That is all. Of course I never saw her afterwards."
    "But you remembered her, and pitied her?"
    "For a long time, Miss Ruth."
    "I like you for that. But what has this to do with me? You said"—
    "The story touched on you indirectly?"
    "Yes."
    "Well, so it does; I will tell you how. This poor girl was beautiful enough in your own fashion to be your sister, and when I first saw you"- -
    "Monsieur," said the guide, respectfully lifting a forefinger to his hat as he approached, "I think it looks like rain."
    The man had spoken in English. Ruth went crimson to the temples, and
Lynde's face assumed a comical expression of dismay.
    "Looks like rain," he repeated mechanically. "I thought you told me you did not understand English."
    "Monsieur is mistaken. It is Jean Macquart that does not spik English."
    "Very well," said Lynde; "if it is going to rain we had better be