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Updated: June 15, 2025
They turned to wave their hands to Randy, who responded, then, as they disappeared behind a clump of trees, she turned her eyes toward the sunny valley and with her hands loosely clasped seemed to be watching the shimmering sunlight on the winding river below. She had long been standing thus when a gentle whinny made her turn to offer the caress for which old Snowfoot was hinting.
Wrecks strewed the open ground about the cabin, poultry coops were washed away, the cow shed was a heap of ruins, into which the trembling observer dared not peer. That Snowfoot should be dead was a calamity but second only to the loss of master and nursling. "Ah! my beast, my beast. The best in all this northern Maine.
The mare looked up and gave a welcoming whinny as Randy Weston, Squire Weston's daughter, crossed the pasture, her pink sunbonnet hanging from her arm by its strings. "Glad to see me, Snowfoot?" asked Randy as she laid a caressing hand upon the mare's neck and looked into the soft eyes which seemed to express a world of love for the girl who never allowed a friendly whinny to pass unnoticed.
"A five dollar gold piece for being the best scholar, Snowfoot, and to think that I haven't yet decided what to do with it! "I've spent it, in my mind a dozen times already, and to-day I'm no nearer to knowing just what I'd rather do with it than on the day it was given me. Did you ever know anything so silly?"
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