But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. He was a philosopher. As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. "And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance. A dreamy sense of content crept over him. Well, I don't blame you on that ground.
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