sitting as straight in the saddle as an empress. For a moment the sunlight filtering through the poplar branches made queer mottled spots of gold on her curly head, then the trees closed in, and we lost her.
I doubled over the pommel of my saddle and laughed until my sides ached. Jud slapped his big hand on the leg of his breeches. "I hope I may die!" he ejaculated. It was his mightiest idiom. But the crooked Ump was as solemn as a lord. He sat looking down his nose.
I turned to him when I got a little breath in me. "Don't be glum," I said. "The little spitfire is an angel. You 're not hurt."
The hunchback rubbed his chin. "Quiller," he said, "don't the Bible tell about a man that met an angel when he was a goin' somewhere?"
"Yes," I laughed.
"What was that man's name?" said he.
"Balaam," said I.
"Well," said he, "that man Balaam was the second ass that saw an angel, an' you 're the third one."
