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Clare, and all the time Valders-Roan was standing tied to the

fence, in full view of all, utterly neglected. This spectacle



filled him with such ire that he hardly could control himself.

His first impulse was to pick a quarrel with Erik; but a second



and far brighter idea presently struck him. He would buy Lady

Clare. Accordingly, when the captain and his son had mounted



their horses and were about to start on their homeward way,

Garvestad, putting Valders-Roan to his trumps, dug his heels into



his sides and rode up with a great flourish in front of the

churchyard gate.



"How much will you take for that mare of yours, captain?" he

asked, as he checked his charger with unnecessary vigor close to



Lady Clare.

"She is not mine to sell," the captain replied. "Lady Clare



belongs to my son."

"Well, what will you take for her, then?" Garvestad repeated,



swaggeringly, turning to Erik.

"Not all the gold in the world could buy her," retorted Erik,



warmly.

Valders-Roan, unable to resist the charms of Lady Clare, had in



the meanwhile been making some cautious overtures toward an

acquaintance. He arched his mighty neck, rose on his hind legs,



while his tremendous forehoofs were beating the air, and cut up

generally--all for Lady Clare's benefit.



She, however, having regarded his performances for awhile with a

mild and somewhat condescending interest, grew a little tired of



them and looked out over the fiord, as a belle might do, with a

suppressed yawn, when her cavalier fails to entertain her.



Valders-Roan, perceiving the slight, now concluded to make more

decided advances. So he put forward his nose until it nearly



touched Lady Clare's, as if he meant to kiss her. But that was

more than her ladyship was prepared to put up with. Quick as a



flash she flung herself back on her haunches, down went her ears,

and hers was the angriest horse's head that ever had been seen in



that parish. With an indignant snort she wheeled around, kicking

up a cloud of dust by the suddenness of the manoeuvre. A less



skilled rider than Erik would inevitably have been thrown by two

such unforeseen jerks; and the fact was he had all he could do to



keep his seat.

"Oho!" shouted Garvestad, "your mare shies; she'll break your



neck some day, as likely as not. You had better sell her before

she gets you into trouble."



"But I shouldn't like to have your broken neck on my conscience,"

Erik replied; "if necks are to be broken by Lady Clare I should



prefer to have it be my own."

The peasant was not clever enough to make out whether this was



jest or earnest. With a puzzled frown he stared at the youth and

finally broke out:



"Then you won't sell her at no price? Anyway, the day you change

your mind don't forget to notify John Garvestad. If it's



spondulix you are after, then here's where there's plenty of

'em."



He slapped his left breast-pocket with a great swagger, looking

around to observe the impression he was making on his audience;



then, jerking the bridleviolently, so as to make his horse rear,

he rode off like Alexander on Bucephalus, and swung down upon the



highway.

It was but a few weeks after this occurrence that Captain



Carstens and his son were invited to honor John Garvestad by

their presence at his wedding. They were in doubt, at first, as



to whether they ought to accept the invitation; for some

unpleasant rumors had reached them, showing that Garvestad



entertained unfriendly feelings toward them. He was an intensely

vain man; and the thought that Erik Carstens had a finer horse



than Valders-Roan left him no peace. He had been heard to say

repeatedly that, if that high-nosed youth persisted in his



refusal to sell the mare, he would discover his mistake when,




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