That storm of March, 19—, claimed many a victim. More than one was frozen to death, many died from the exposure, and many more were invalids for months as the result of it. All that terrible night Dr. Black worked over old Charles, with Mammy and Hadyn to aid him, and Constance to vibrate between the house and the cottage, for with the first peep of dawn Mr. Henry’s man came over to dig out the snow-bound family and make a path from house to cottage. Mrs. Carruth, upon learning of Jean’s desperate rush for Dr. Black and her collapse at his doorstep, started instantly for his home. Charles could claim a great deal from her, but the claim of her own was far greater, and Dr. Black’s sleigh and powerful horse carried her to Jean as quickly as the great snowdrifts permitted.

But Jean was really none the worse for her mad ride once she was warmed and had partaken of Mrs. Black’s cup of steaming hot chocolate. She was as strong and pliable as a hickory sapling, which, the storm having passed over it, springs erect and is as vigorous as ever. Mrs. Black soon reassured Mrs. Carruth, and at length had the satisfaction of seeing them both fast asleep in her guest room, Mrs. Carruth’s arm, even in her sleep, laid caressingly and protectingly across Jean’s shoulder. Both were worn out, and noon had struck before they wakened to reproach themselves for their long rest and to make inquiry for Charles. Dr. Black had just returned, and reported a decided improvement in the old man.

“And Baltie—dear old Baltie?” demanded Jean.

“Baltie is sure enough in clover, little girl,” answered the good doctor. “Dried clover, and last summer’s clover, to be sure, but none the less clover, for Dick has nearly buried him in it, and the old fellow seems none the worse for his struggle through snowdrifts. But you are both trumps—the queen of hearts and the king, by George! I don’t know how you did it!”

“We had to do it. There wasn’t anyone else to.”

Dr. Black took the earnest face in both his hands, and, looking into the hazel eyes, said:

“It is a pity a few more are not convinced of that ‘we had to.’”

Then he drove his guests back to their home. It was agreed that Baltie should not be taken out of Dr. Black’s stable until the weather moderated.

A week passed. Charles was out of danger, but still required the closest attention, and Constance insisted upon a nurse from Memorial Hospital. Mammy protested, but her protests were of no avail. Constance saw very quickly that weeks of careful nursing lay ahead, and she would not permit her mother to overtax her strength. Mammy must attend to her cooking and the luncheon counter, now that Charles could not. Constance had her own hands full with her candy kitchen, for, even with Mary and Fanny Willing to assist her, she had all she could do to keep abreast of her orders. So the nurse took command in Mammy’s bedroom, and Mammy had to yield.

Perhaps no one felt the situation half as keenly as Hadyn did. That he had dozed off in that hour and a half in which so much occurred filled him with a remorse he could not overcome. He had been left at a post of duty at a critical hour, and he had failed ignominiously. He would not admit any extenuating circumstances, for he sincerely felt that there were none. If others had kept awake when it was imperative to keep awake, why had he not done so? If little Jean had been able to do so, and when he had failed her had undertaken such a ride, undaunted by the hour, the darkness, the loneliness and the terrific storm, while he dozed snugly before the open fire—oh, it was intolerable, disgraceful! And these friends had done so much for him! True, no harm had come to Jean or to the others, but Hadyn shuddered when he pictured what might have happened in those ninety minutes. Coax and urge as he would he could not induce Jean to admit that she had signalled to the house for aid, albeit he felt as certain that she had done so as if he had seen the electric light flashed. When he urged she simply closed her lips and shook her head, and as no one else, not even Constance, could enlighten him, he had to let the matter drop.

In the course of the next week Baltie came hobbling back to his home. In spite of all the care given him at Dr. Black’s, the old horse showed the effects of his exposure and the terrible tax upon his strength that wild night; yet none who loved him so well dreamed that the great summons had really come to the animal which had given more than thirty years of faithful service to his friends. From little colthood he had been Grandfather Raulsbury’s pet until the old man’s death. Then had come the dreadful interval of evil days when Jabe Raulsbury had so misused him, to be followed by the happier ones with the Carruths—days of unremitting care, affection and happiness for Baltie and those who loved him, and especially to Jean and Mammy. And how generously he had requited their devotion to him! Indeed, the last act of his life was to be recorded as one of service to those he loved—a service which had undoubtedly saved the life of one who had tenderly ministered to his comfort. But for Baltie’s devotion Charles’ life could not have been saved, all agreed, and the one who loved the blind horse more than any other excepting Jean would have mourned her old husband. Mammy’s heart was large enough to take in all the world if they needed her love and care, though she often hid that fact beneath an assumed aggressiveness. That was Mammy’s way.

From the hour that Baltie had become the joint property of Jean and Mammy, and later the ownership had embraced Charles, they had not missed visiting his stable the first thing in the morning. For a long time Mammy’s was the first voice the blind old horse heard when he greeted the morning sunlight which streamed into his big box stall; Mammy’s the first hand to minister to his comfort and caress him. Then, as soon as she was dressed, Jean flew to the stable, and a pretty scene always followed. When Charles came into the family he was the one to go first to the stable; but neither Jean nor Mammy ever failed to visit Baltie a little later, and during those years he had become almost human. Only human speech seemed denied him, but this lack he supplied by his own Houyhnhum language, and the silent but most eloquent language of the eyes and ears which God has given mute creatures—each so very wonderful if dull humans will only try to learn them. In the audible one are almost as many inflections as in the broader range of the human voice, and it is a dull intellect indeed which cannot interpret:

“I love you. I am cold. I am hungry. I am parched with thirst,” and a hundred other sentences, or read the language of the eyes and ears.

And Baltie’s vocabulary was a liberal one; his conversational powers, exceptional; his friends understanding the keenest.

As often occurs, that blizzard, which is now history, was followed by weather as soft and balmy as mid-April rather than late March. As if by magic the snow disappeared, running away in rivers of water and leaving the turf beneath showing promising bits of green, which made one feel little tingles of joy at the hint of springtime. Only in sunless spots did banks of snow linger surlily and soiled, like some malign creature beaten, but yet too vindictive to withdraw. The stable fronted south, and all the graciousness of that early spring sunshine fell upon it and entered its doors the minute they were opened. In spite of her anxiety for Charles, and her increased labors as the result of his illness and convalescence, Mammy had somehow found time to visit Baltie each day, though she was not often able to do so early in the morning. It was Jean who ran out to him long before anyone else was astir, and more than once had Constance been obliged to go out after her, lest she forget breakfast, school, and everything else.

Baltie had been back in his own stable about a week when he began to show signs that the wonderful machinery which had endured for so many years was wearing out. Had Charles or Mammy been looking after him then, they would have recognized the signs; but Mr. Henry’s man, though he did everything for Baltie’s comfort, saw in him nothing but a worn-out old horse, which must very soon go the way of all old worn-out horses, and Jean lacked experience to understand. So the climax came when no one dreamed it was pending.

It was a wonderful morning in mid-April. Out in the garden some pioneer robins had ventured into the northern world, and were calling madly to one another of the grave responsibilities of selecting building sites, and constructing homes against the arrival of their wives, who had, like themselves, been wintering in the South. On the southern terrace a few venturesome crocuses popped their heads up through the moist earth to smile a “howdy, friend,” at a passerby. Off in the distance the river lay like a mirror, with vast ice floes dropping down stream with the tide, crystal barges for Elaine, and moving as silently, each duplicated in the water mirror that floated them, as were also the opposite shore and mountains. A wonderful picture, mirage-like in its outline and exquisite coloring. Those who knew that river best read the signs unerringly. The farmers living in the environs of Riveredge called this peculiar atmospheric condition a “weather breeder.”

There was something in Jean which fairly leaped out to meet the newly awakened world and springtide. From a little child she had lived very close indeed to nature’s heart. The first balmy breath of spring seemed to intoxicate her; the first bird-call could throw her into an ecstacy; an early spring blossom invariably caused a rapture; summer’s languor and richness bore her off into a beautiful world of her own; autumn’s “mellow, yellow, ripening days, floating in a golden coating of a dreamy, listless haze,” conveyed her instantly into dreamland; winter’s frost and sparkle produced the wildest exhilaration. Was it any wonder that, coming out into the early morning sunlight of that soft springlike day, with bird notes filling the air, and her own pulses thrilling with life at its dawn, Jean’s cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled with the very joy of living?

It was still very early and no one yet astir. Over in Mammy’s cottage a faint smoke wraith floated up from the chimney, telling that Mammy was astir. Jean had thrown a warm cape about her, for the morning air still had its chill, and, enticed by the sunlight, she ran down the piazza steps, inhaling deep breaths of the delicious air. Pausing a moment to revel in it all, her eyes fell upon the stable. The next second she was darting away like a swallow, no premonition in her heart of what lay behind its closed doors.

Opening the door she entered with a soft whistle. When had there failed to be an instant response to that whistle? This time there was silence only.

“Oh, Baltie, dear! Come, Baltie!” she called, running across to the box stall and opening the door. Then there was a low cry, and Jean stood for a moment as though petrified. On the sweet, clean straw lay the old horse, body inert, limbs relaxed, head resting upon its bed of soft straw as a tired, worn-out veteran’s might rest upon his pillow, his eyes closed, and without a flutter of the delicate nostrils to indicate breathing. Life seemed extinct. With a piteous cry Jean glided to the horse’s head and dropped upon her knees, clasping her arms about the silky neck.

“Baltie, oh, Baltie, dear, look at me! Speak to me,” she begged.

The eyelids fluttered, and the faintest possible nicker was breathed through the nostrils as he strove to raise his head. Too late! The angel of death was about to claim one of his most faithful creatures, and, let us hope, the recording angel was already checking off the deeds of a devoted life and a disposition which many of his friends claiming immortality might emulate.

“Oh, my Baltie, my Baltie!” sobbed Jean, slipping into a sitting position and lifting the horse’s head into her lap. “Must you leave me? Must your life end now? I love you so, Baltie, I love you so! You have been so good, so faithful! How can I let you die? how can I?” and with heartbreaking sobs Jean buried her head in the silky forelock as her arms clasped the great head.

Slowly the sunlight which Baltie and Jean so loved crept around and looked into the window of the stall. On a branch just beyond the window a bluebird caroled as though not in all the sunlit world was there sorrow or death.

In the stall Jean sat motionless. Her first impulse had been to rush for aid; but who could aid in this extremity? Instinctively the girl knew it to be the end, and somehow, in her great love for her pet, she did not wish anyone else to intrude upon the moment of his passing. She had no idea of the flight of time. Ten minutes or an hour might have passed without her noting them. Baltie lay perfectly still, his head in her lap, her arms clasping his neck. Gently, sweetly as he had lived, so was Baltie slipping out of the world of sentient creatures. Only the faintest flutter of breath indicated that life lingered. His effort to greet the one he loved seemed to have demanded his last atom of vitality. After a little Jean’s sobs ceased, though tears still fell upon the satiny head. She did not know how long she had been in the stall, when just the softest sigh was breathed from the delicate nostrils, a faint quiver passed over the great frame, and Baltie was at rest forever. Gently as he had lived, so had Baltie died.

Two hours later Mammy came out to the stable in quest of Jean.