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 because of his bad temper. Shetlands are usually very amiable little horses, but there is occasionally a stallion that gets rather wild and often vicious. But the thing that caused Black Fury's bad temper was jealousy. He had a rival in the little herd of mares, and this seemed to make him furious.

All had gone well with Black Fury until he was a year old. Then his master had decided to import a better-bred stallion in hopes that he might improve his breed of little horses. Accordingly, he sent to the celebrated stables of Colonel Balfour, whose breed of Shetlands is known the world over. A month or two later the new stallion arrived. He was only a year old, just the age of Black Fury, who had not even gained this name at the time, but was called Blackie.

There was much excitement on the farm when Mr. Pederson drove away to town to get the new pedigreed pony. The children were still more excited as the farmer


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 returned with a large box, taking up nearly the whole of the small wagon.

When the box was finally unloaded and they got their first peep at the new horse, the children knew at once that he would be their favorite for all time. He was a wonderful little dapple bay. His coat was short, the result of much clipping and breeding for a short coat. This was in glaring contrast to the long, shaggy, rather sorry coats of the island ponies.

The newcomer was a thoroughbred in every way. He was much slighter of build than the native stock, and this made him look more like a real horse. His mane and tail were very heavy and glossy black. His eyes were large and soft, and he was as loving and gentle as a lamb.

Hans at once climbed upon his back, while Olga put her arms about his neck and laid her face against his cheek. All of which the sleek little horse took very much as a matter of course.

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 "Oh, isn't he a beauty!" cried Olga excitedly. "What shall we call him?"

"His registered name," said Mr. Pederson, "is Sir Wilton Second, but I think we had better call him Dapple Dandy." This name fitted him so well that it stuck. So to the children and the neighbors he was always Dapple Dandy, but to men who came to the farm to buy horses, he was Sir Wilton Second.

The Pedersons at once took the newcomer into the family. He was given a stall in an open shed, which was really palatial for a Shetland pony. But it did not seem to impress him very much. If they could have seen the box stall from which he had been taken when he was crated and sent to the island, they would not have wondered at his indifference.

The children spent all their playtime with him. They rode him horseback, and they fed and watered him, in fact, took the entire care of him, after getting their instructions from their father.


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 It happened about a week after the arrival of Dapple Dandy, that Blackie wandered in from the hills to see what was going on at the house.

The first thing that met his eyes was the new colt in the yard, and the children, who had been in the habit of petting him, were playing with the stranger. This at once aroused Blackie's anger. He trotted up to the newcomer and sniffed noses with him. Sir Wilton was very affable and did not put on many airs, but Blackie divined at once that he considered himself much superior to the rusty-black, shaggy Shetland from the hills, so he unceremoniously nipped Sir Wilton in the face.

Dapple Dandy drew back in astonishment. He had never been treated so rudely before. He had been trying to be nice, and this rowdy had nipped him. It was beyond his understanding, so he turned his head away and would not even look at Blackie.

This was unfortunate, for it put him at


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 a disadvantage, so he did not see the next move of the small savage from the hills.

Before any one even guessed his intent, Blackie wheeled and lashed out at Sir Wilton with both his heels, one of which struck him in the chest.

At this point in the strange scene, Mr. Pederson, who had been watching from the shed, came out with a whip and drove the fuming Blackie away, while he carefully examined Sir Wilton's chest to discover if he had been injured.

"Is he hurt?" cried the children in the same breath.

"No, I guess not," replied their father; "but I don't want that black imp kicking him in that way every day."

"Why did he do it?" asked Hans.

"He recognized a future rival among the mares. It is the way of stallions. I am sorry that he is so spiteful. I am afraid we'll have trouble if we try to keep both horses on the range when they grow up. But perhaps it will blow over."


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 Instead, from that day the two little horses were deadly rivals. Not that Dapple Dandy carried the war as far as did his rival. He simply defended himself as well as he could. But the hatchet was never buried. War between them always existed until the fatal winter twilight when they fought that desperate battle to the death in a little pocket far up among the hills.


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ECAUSE of the jealousy between Blackie and the newcomer, Blackie was seen less and less around the farm buildings, and Dapple Dandy was very loath to leave and go with the rest of the colts to the hills for feed.

But it must be understood that most of the jealousy and hatred was on the side of Black Fury. He was not so refined or so much of a gentleman as his sleek relative from the Colonel Balfour stables.

For the first few days the children had to feed Sir Wilton to keep him from starving. They fed him the black oats and small flint corn and barley raised in the island. He did not much relish it, since it was not as sweet as the feed he was used to, but the children, by much petting and


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 coaxing, whetted his appetite. The keen winds and the bracing air of the island also played an important part, so he gradually got used to his coarse feed. His first journeys away from the farm buildings were on the moor, where he went to graze with the strange little sheep that pastured there. These sheep were about half the size of ordinary sheep, but as lively as fleas. This Dapple Dandy discovered when he tried to chase them. The moors were intersected with ditches, which were partly filled with water. This was necessary, to keep them dry enough so that the stock could feed upon them. These ditches the sheep would jump like deer, and Sir Wilton soon learned to jump them, too.

The feed on the moors was not very appetizing. It consisted of rushes, reeds, and a thick lush or marsh grass, with some tender mosses which the sheep would eat, but which Dapple Dandy did not fancy.

But the new colt did not even go on the


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 moors of his own accord, for the children had to drive him there each day. He had never had to work for his oats, and he did not see why he should now. To him life had always been one long holiday, with nothing to do but take the good things that came his way, and occasionally kick up a bit or take a short gallop if he felt especially frolicsome; but life as a hard struggle for sustenance, such as it was to the native island ponies, Sir Wilton did not know.

After he had become well acquainted with the sheep and the moors, the children drove him to the foothills, where the cows were pastured. The cows were gentle, mild-eyed creatures who gave a surprising lot of milk for their size.

The feed here was sweeter and more to the colt's liking. The cows treated him with respect and consideration, so he got along very well. Occasionally some of the wild colts strayed in among the cows and Dapple Dandy made their acquaintance.


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 But the horses stayed in the hills most of the time. The feed in the cow pastures was rather scant, and one had to learn to distinguish the grass from heather, or harebells, or thistles, which Sir Wilton learned to do after several sorry mistakes.

One June morning, when he had been with the Pedersons about two months, he was feeding away peacefully in a sheltered spot, when he heard a sound of mad galloping close at hand. He looked up hurriedly and saw Black Fury bearing down upon him. For a few seconds he looked at his enemy in astonishment, but when the vicious black colt wheeled by his side and lashed out with both heels at him he knew what was up. The vicious kick missed him narrowly, so he wheeled about and faced his adversary, watchful and on guard. The black colt retreated for fifty feet and stood looking at him belligerently. Then he reared upon his hind legs and began pawing the air like a windmill and walking toward Dapple Dandy,


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 his lips drawn back, showing his white teeth.

This is a common antic among infuriated stallions of full size, but is rarely seen in acolt. The sight was enough for Dapple Dandy. He had never seen a horse walk on his hind legs before, and did not even dream that they could do it. This strange feat, together with the savage looks of Black Fury, filled him with terror, and he galloped frantically toward home. The black imp followed as far as the moors, but, as he was not so finely built as his rival, he was soon left behind.

The children saw their favorite come galloping madly toward the house, and ran out to see what was the matter. He was evidently much disturbed, for his flanks quivered and he trembled as though cold. At first they could not discover the cause of the fright, but they finally made out Black Fury peering down over a distant boulder at them, and they knew what was the matter. So they petted Sir Wilton


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 and told him that he was a dear colt and that they hated Black Fury. But as Mr. Pederson had told them to drive the new colt back to the pasture whenever they saw him with the sheep, they were obliged to drive him back to his enemy.

After that he was always on the watch for the imp, and he usually fled at the first sight of him. Things went on until one day Black Fury cornered him between two steep banks and charged full speed.

Poor Sir Wilton could not run, so he wheeled and stood with his heels waiting for the tormentor, while he looked back over his shoulder so that he would know when to kick. The belligerent Blackie had not expected this move, so he galloped full upon Dapple Dandy, who lashed out at just the right time and caught him squarely on the chest.

This was the first punishment that he had received at the hands, or, rather, the heels of Sir Wilton. It made him less


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 sure of himself and more cautious, and it gave Sir Wilton confidence. It taught him that he, too, could fight. In fact a little of the Shetland-pony fighting spirit was born in him that day, so after that it was not so uneven a battle as it had been before.

He even went far into the hills with the rest of the wild Shetlands, most of whom were friendly enough. He was always on the watch for his enemy and they often had clashes, but these encounters were never so one-sided as they had been at first. Sometimes Sir Wilton tired of always being hounded and watched, and then he would turn and give his adversary a real battle. They would charge and retreat, kicking and biting at each other until one of them gave ground, and this was usually Dapple Dandy, for he was a thoroughbred. Breeding and luxury had taken something of the island fire out of him, so he was not really a match for his hardier kinsman, because he did not like to


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 fight as well as the other colt did. It was easier just to gallop away.

It was a very common thing for one of the colts to be lame for several days or to have an ugly bite upon the flank or shoulder. But the island farmers do not pay much attention to these rugged little horses, so Sir Wilton for most of the time had to fight his own battles and make the best of his rather hard lot.

Thus the short summer passed and the early autumn came. Dapple Dandy managed to keep himself in fair flesh, although not so good a browser as the native ponies. But when storms came and he had to paw away the snow it was quite different. Then, with the rest of the pony herd, he often went down to the seashore to paw in the snow for seaweed and moss. He now found that his life was just a long struggle to keep down the gnawing at his vitals, and also to keep warm.

His coat had been bred to grow short and not so thick as that of his wild cousins,


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 so he minded the cold much more than they.

Mr. Pederson, seeing that he was not getting along very well, took pity on him and allowed him one meal a day of the black oats that he had so despised when he first came to the island. These objectionable oats he ate ravenously and was most grateful for them. He was also allowed the protection of the open shed. So he came home each night to sleep, and the children again saw much of him. Once more he received the petting and fondling that his horse heart yearned for.

Black Fury also came to the farm buildings to see what had become of his rival. When he again discovered him enjoying the petting of the children and the comforts of the open shed at night, for they always drove the black colt away, his wrath again mounted, but he could not vent it on Dapple Dandy now, for he was among friends. He went back to the hills


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 and nursed his rage against the day when he should again come to grips with his hated rival.

So the winter passed and spring came again. Finally Sir Wilton was once more driven back to the pastures among the hills. Here he and Black Fury met often, and their encounters were more savage and of longer duration than they had ever been before, for both were older and heavier. About the middle of the summer Sir Wilton came limping to the farmhouse with a badly strained ligament, and was obliged to keep quiet for several weeks, but he finally went back to the hills and his tormentor. Thus the seasons came and went,—the short summers with their fleeting beauty, which seemed even more beautiful to the islanders because it was so transient, and the short spring and autumn and the cold, hard winters. Through it all Sir Wilton grew in stature and weight and also in beauty. It was finally admitted by all the breeders that he was the most beau-


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 tiful and best set-up young stallion that had ever fed upon the islands.

Three years passed quickly by and Sir Wilton came to his fourth year. He had now reached his full height of twelve hands, or forty-eight inches, and his full weight, which was a little less than four hundred pounds. His head was beautiful in line. His eyes were large and lustrous. His coat was sleek as satin, and it shone when he had been brushed, as he sometimes was for inspection, until you could almost see your face in it. His mane and tail were long and flowing. Altogether, he was a wonderful little horse, one that a horse fancier would go many miles to see.

A year before he had gotten his first colt, which was a living picture of him, and now little Dapples was trotting about like a dog at the heels of one of the island mares. Sir Wilton had never been jealous of this colt, as some stallions are, but had seemed to take a great pride in him, for they often sniffed noses. Black


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 Fury, on the other hand, probably recognized the hated aristocratic blood, and he tormented the colt just as he had done his sire. This led to several very sharp encounters between the stallions.

It was a bitter November twilight when Sir Wilton and Black Fury finally met in a gulch among the hills. The black devil had been following Sir Wilton for days, looking for just such a chance, but the latter did not know it. Even if he had, it is doubtful if he would have shunned him, for he had now come to his full stallion strength. Besides he owed the black tormentor a good beating for the way in which he had treated little Dapples.

Although it was only November, the landscape looked like midwinter. The snow was two feet deep on the ground and the wind was bitter cold. Sir Wilton should have gone down to the farmhouse where he usually spent the winter, but this day a fit of restlessness had seized him and he had wandered far into the hills. The


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 black shadow had been following him all day like a pursuing fate.

Sir Wilton had trotted up a narrow arroyo, or gulch, to its head, looking for some spot where the wind might have swept away the snow so that he could find some feed. This gulch was a perfect pocket. Its walls on three sides were so steep that no horse could climb them.

He had reached the head of the pocket when he heard a slight noise behind him. Looking about over his shoulder, he saw the black stallion trotting rapidly toward him. There was no mistaking his intent, for his lips were drawn up, showing his white, gleaming teeth, and he fairly bristled with fury. Dapple Dandy wheeled around quickly and faced him.

He knew instinctively that a death struggle had come. It had been leading up to this ever since the black colt first kicked him the morning that he came to the island. He was not afraid, but he


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 knew full well that his adversary was a terrible fighter.

Black Fury trotted forward until he came within fifty feet of his rival, then stopped and stood glaring at him. He was working himself up to the proper fighting pitch, although it seemed to Sir Wilton that he needed no such priming. He snorted and snapped his teeth like a steel trap, then sprang forward. Three or four jumps carried him to within ten feet of Sir Wilton, when he wheeled and lashed out with his heels. But he was not quicker than the dappled stallion, who wheeled at the same instant and also kicked out with his heels. Their hoofs came together with a ringing sound, but did no damage. Then both wheeled again and stood facing each other thirty feet apart. For several seconds they stood thus, when Black Fury again executed that circus stunt that had so terrified the dappled colt. He reared on his hind legs and began slowly walking forward, paw-


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 ing the air and snapping his teeth. Old horsemen who have handled stallions all their lives say there is no more terrible sight than a horse, gone mad with rage, turned into a terrific fighting-machine.

But two could play at this game, so Sir Wilton reared and also advanced. When they were about twenty feet apart both suddenly came down on all fours, and the black stallion struck savagely at his adversary with his fore-feet, while Sir Wilton in turn sprang forward and tore a large piece of hide from the black imp's face. This seemed fairly to drive Black Fury out of his senses, and he threw all precaution to the wind and charged his adversary recklessly, striking, biting, and kicking in rapid succession.

Sir Wilton met this onslaught as well ashe could. He lashed out with both heels several times, and twice landed stunning blows on the black horse's chest, but the latter was as tough as an oak and could take more punishment than his high-bred


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 rival, Twice they reared at such close range that they came down almost together, tearing open gaping wounds in shoulders or neck. The snow was trampled like a battle-field and streaked with blood.

Back and forth they surged, first ong getting the advantage and then the other, biting, kicking, squealing. Their breath came in whistling gasps through widely distended nostrils as the battle grew more and more furious.

Finally Sir Wilton landed his heels fairly in the side of the black fighter and scored two broken ribs against his adversary. But his advantage was of short duration, for the black fighter retreated, feigning fear, and threw him off his guard. Sir Wilton advanced carelessly and the black stallion played him the same trick, breaking three ribs instead of two. His blows also landed just above the dappled stallion's heart, and for a second he wavered as though he would fall. But he soon


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 regained his wind and confidence and the battle raged on.

It is doubtful how it would have ended. Perhaps they would have fought for hours, had not the black fighter had a bit of luck when the struggle had been going on steadily for about an hour. Sir Wilton had been pressing him hard and scoring several hard blows with his fore-feet, when—the black stallion landed a kick that broke one of his rival's fore-legs just above the knee and spelled his doom. The game horse was quick to recognize his defeat, and he backed against the wall, determined to punish his adversary as much as possible before he was finally borne to earth. He could no longer strike with his fore-feet, and he did not dare stand with his head to the wall, so he stood there grimly biting and occasionally turning to lash out with his heels, but this effort cost him great pain and he soon ceased fighting and stood taking his punishment like a soldier.

Black Fury was not slow in administer-


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 ing it, for he struck with his fore-feet and lashed out with his heels, landing kick after kick. Finally the beautiful dappled stallion was borne down to his knees and the victor reared above him and came down with both cutting hoofs on his beautiful head. This laid him low. His tormentor did not leave him even then, but he reared again and again, coming down with his pile-driving hoofs 'and grinding the thoroughbred into the snow. For half an hour he battered away, but finally, seeing that all life had left him, he trotted slowly away. He had not come off without many terrible wounds, and it would be weeks before he would again be himself. But he had conquered.

Henceforth the range and the mares would be his. He was content.


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WO or three days after the battle, as Sir Wilton did not put in an appearance at the farm buildings, where he was in the habit of coming often, Mr. Pederson went to look for him. He first discovered Black Fury limping about on three legs with a strained shoulder, and bearing many other scars. Mr. Pederson's suspicions were at once aroused. Finally he found poor Sir Wilton, the pride of his farm, lying where he had fallen. He was pounded into the snow as though with a pile-driver, and the snow for a hundred feet around showed how desperate the struggle had been.

At first, Mr. Pederson was so angry that he declared he would shoot Black Fury, but finally reflected that such a


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 course would not bring back Sir Wilton. He had already lost one stallion, so why sacrifice another; besides, the black horse was the best native stallion on the island. So the crime went unpunished.

When the children heard the full story from their father they were heart-broken, for they remembered the little dappled colt as he had first appeared on the island. But their attention was soon claimed by another love.

About a week after the death of Sir Wilton, the black horse discovered little Dapples, Sir Wilton's son, who was then about six months old, running about in the hills with his mother. The sight of the small dappled colt, which was a living picture of his sire, so enraged the fury that he at once went after him to kill him. But the mare would not let him. She placed herself constantly between him and the object of his rage. A stallion will rarely attack a mare. He was greatly handicapped by the fact that he was now traveling on


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 three legs. Little Dapples himself had no mind to be stamped to death by the snorting, wild-eyed animal, so he ran like a jack-rabbit, doubling and twisting, and always keeping his mother between himself and his tormentor. So it happened that they came almost up to the farm buildings, the black stallion biting and striking at the mare in his vain endeavors to get at the colt, and the faithful mare warding him off. Mr. Pederson saw them coming, and went after the fury with a pitchfork and drove him away. So it happened that for the second time a dappled colt was taken into the house and the hearts of the Pederson family.

But this colt was much smaller than the other one had been. Sir Wilton had come to the island farm as a yearling, while little Dapples was only six months old. He was given a place to sleep in the open shed, and he often trotted into the best rooms in the house, much like a large dog. The children fed him with care and brushed


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 and caressed him. He was even more of a favorite than his sire had been, because he was so much smaller. So all through that winter little Dapples lived in the Pederson household, almost as one of the family. He even followed the children to school one day, much like Mary's lamb. He finally became so much of a pet that if the children were going away from the farm they had to tie the little colt up first.

But the raising of colts or almost any live-stock for the market is attended by many sad farewells among the little folks. A calf, a lamb, or a colt will work its way into the hearts of the children and they can hardly live without it. Then one fateful day a stranger will drive into the yard. The children will at once be suspicious of him. Somehow he has a sinister look. Presently Father will come around, looking rather shamefaced, to tell them that he has just sold their latest pet. So it happened with little Dapples in the spring, when he was just a year old.


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 A breeder from England had heard of the famous Sir Wilton who now lay up in the hills under the heather, and he wanted to buy him.

Mr. Pederson could not sell him, but he would sell his colt, an exact image of Sir Wilton at that age.

The dealer looked the small horse over carefully while the children stood about with tear-stained faces, hanging on his every word. Finally he spoke, and they knew at once that little Dapples' fate was sealed.

"I will give you twenty pounds for him," the dealer said. Mr. Pederson nodded his head, at the same time looking fearfully at the children.

So it happened that just three years after Sir Wilton had ceme to the island, his colt went back to the mainland. He was sent in the same crate that his sire had come in. The children gave him one last brushing and petting, and then fled tearfully into the house while their father


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 drove away with him, the favorite of all their many farm pets.

After his short and uneventful life on the island farm it was a strange and eventful journey upon which little Dapples had set out. But this was only the first of many long trips that he was destined to take. First he was loaded on a small steamer bound for the mainland. After a few hours of rather rough sailing the ship touched at a harbor which was also a railroad terminal, and the crate containing Dapples was transferred to the railroad. After two or three rather stupid days of bumping about in freight cars the small horse finally arrived at his destination, a town in Kent, England.

So he had come at one jump from the bleak, desolate Shetlands to one of the most beautiful shires of England. It was a strange transition, but of course Dapples did not appreciate it fully until he had seen his new home.

After his crate had been shoved out on


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 a platform at the station a large hand was thrust in through the slats, and a friendly voice began talking to him. He loved the voice from the first, and knew at once that this man loved horses.

"You poor leetle divil. Shutting you up in that prison like a jail-bird, and not givin' you space to stretch your legs. And it's Jerry McCoy that will see you are released as soon as he can git you home. That he will."

While the pleasant voice had been speaking, the gentle hand had been stroking Dapples's nose and caressing his forehead. So he knew that everything was all right.

After a short ride in a farm wagon they arrived at Rosemere, the country home of Sir Arthur Homesdale, Dapples's new owner. Arrived at the stables, Jerry, the groom, called a helper, and together they lifted Dapples's crate from the wagon, and, sooner than it takes to tell, Jerry had knocked off the side and led the small


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 horse out. He was so stiff with his long confinement that he hobbled around like an old horse. But a vigorous rubbing by the groom and the helper soon set him right. Then he was led away and put in a spacious box stall, in quarters such as his sire, Sir Wilton Second, had occupied when he was a colt. Jerry came several times a day to see him and to care for him. He saw to it that he was properly fed and watered and groomed. He also took him for a little exercise each day.

Jerry himself would be mounted on a tall black horse, who would not even look at Dapples, while the groom led the colt by his side. Sometimes it seemed to Dapples that the large horse went too fast. At such times he would have to gallop to keep up, although the adult horse was merely trotting rapidly, but these daily gallops were the very best thing for the Shetland.

Finally, when he had been at Rosemere for about a month, Dapples was turned


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 out in a beautiful paddock each day and put back into the box stall at night.

The paddock was full of sweet grass, much better than anything Dapples had ever even dreamed of on the island. There were several large trees in the enclosure, so when the sun was hot there was pleasant shade.

Two old horses that had seen their best days kept Dapples company. They were rather disdainful of the Shetland, but kind to him, so his lot was ideal.

What better fun could a Shetland colt wish than to spend the wonderful summer days in a sweet-smelling paddock, where the feed was good and there was cool shade. The air was full of pleasant sounds, and if he felt too full of life he could gallop about in his small pasture to his heart's delight.

Then there were two children who came often to see Dapples. They were about the size of Hans and Olga, so he took to them at once. They were all eagerness to


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172 celestials, becoming objects of his sight, by soft speeches succeeded in winning him away from his ascetic austerities.

"And the gods said, 'O lord of the Earth, thou shouldst take care so that virtue may not sustain a diminution on Earth! Protected by thee, virtue itself will in return protect the universe!' And Indra said, 'O king, protect thou virtue on Earth, attentively and rigidly! Being virtuous, thou shalt, for all time, behold (in after life) many sacred regions! And thou I am of heaven, and thou art of the Earth, yet art thou my friend and dear to me. And, O king of men, dwell thou in that region of the Earth, which is the most delightful, which aboundeth in animals, is sacred, full of wealth and corn, well-protected like heaven, of agreeable climate, graced with every object of enjoyment and blessed with fertility. And, O monarch of Chedi, this thy dominion is full of riches, of gems and precious stones, and containeth besides much mineral wealth. The cities and towns of this region are all devoted to virtue; the people are honest and contented; they never lie even in jest. Sons never divide their wealth with their fathers and are ever mindful of the welfare of their parents. Lean cattle are never yoked to the plough or the cart, or engaged in carrying merchandise; on the other hand, they are well-fed and fattened. In Chedi, O thou reverencer of the gods and guests, the four orders are always engaged in their respective vocations. Let nothing be unknown to thee that happens in the three worlds. I shall give thee a crystal car such as the celestials alone have, capable of carrying thee through mid-air. Thou alone, of all mortals on the Earth, riding on that best of cars, shalt range through mid-air like a celestial endued with a physical frame. I shall also give thee a triumphal garland of unfading lotuses wearing which in battle thou shalt not be wounded by weapons. And, O king, this blessed and incomparable garland, widely known on Earth as Indra's garland, shall be thy distinctive badge.'

"And the slayer of Vitra also gave the king, for his gratification, a bamboo pole for protecting the honest and the peaceful. And after the expiration of a year, the king planted it on the ground for the purpose of worshipping the giver


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 have Jerry train Dapples for them so they might ride and drive him. But Jerry said he was too young and they would have to wait. So while the children waited for Dapples to grow, they and the little horse became the best of friends.

It was not until Dapples was nearly three that Jerry set to work to train him in all the ways of a saddle and phaeton pony. Up to that time the Shetland had not even dreamed that there was such a thing as work in the world.

Jerry first put a small open bridle on him, talking to him all the time in a friendly way.

"Now, leetle chap," said the good-natured Irishman, "that thing I am puttin' into your mouth is a bit, but you just think it is a lump of sugar. Here, here, don't try to spit it out, and don't shake your head. It won't hurt you." At this point the groom stroked the Shetland's face and rubbed his nose and talked to him until he did not mind the hateful bit. Then Jerry


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 led him about the yard, turning, him this way and that until he had learned to mind the bit.

Next, he very carefully put the pad on the small horse, taking care to remove the breeching. Dapples did not mind that as much as he had the bit, not even when it was buckled tight around his middle. After he had become used to the pad, Jerry put on the breeching. Dapples kicked twice at this strange thing that flapped about his hind quarters, but Jerry assured him that it would not bite him, and he soon understood that it was a part of the game.

Jerry did not hitch him into a cart for several days, not until he had broken him to the saddle arid allowed the children to ride about the yard while he led the pony for them. But finally Dapples was hitched into a fine new shiny phaeton, and his real life's work began. But Jerry did not trust the children with him until he had driven him several days under all sorts


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 of trying conditions, and even then he always accompanied them on the black horse.

By degrees the careful groom educated the children in driving both in the saddle and in the cart. After about a month he felt sure that he could trust both children and pony. Then it was a very common sight to see the Homesdale children driving about the country in their shining phaeton drawn by their shiny dappled bay Shetland.

It is a question whether the children were prouder of the small horse or he of his charges. They praised and petted him and showed him to all the children for miles around, yet it is equally certain that he always held his head high and stepped off like a thoroughbred, never disappointing his trainer, old Jerry, with either his style or work.

Finally, in the autumn when the country fairs were being held Jerry conceived the idea of making a trick pony of Dapples


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 and showing him at the local fair. He had been working on him for several weeks before he finally got permission from Sir Arthur to exhibit him at the fair.

Most ponies are very clever and learn tricks much more readily than a full-sized horse. This is because they have been trick horses for centuries. Their diminutive size always gives them an advantage with an audience, for the children are always ready to clap for them even before they have made their bow. The Homesdale children were all excitement about Dapples's tricks, and they watched Jerry each day as he labored patiently with the small horse. When the fair day finally arrived, they could hardly wait until he should come into the arena and do his tricks.

When Dapples trotted demurely into the open space in front of the judges' stand, and made a low bow, a ripple of applause swept through the great audience in the grand stand.


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 "Ladies and gentlemen," cried Jerry in a clear, ringing voice, "we have with us to-day the only pony in the British Isles that can tell time. It is now just three o'clock by my watch. I will show the timepiece to Sir Wilton III and see what time he makes it."

He held the watch in front of the pony, which seemed to view it critically.

"Have you got it, old chap?" asked Jerry. Dapples bowed his assent. "All right," said Jerry. "Tell the crowd what time it is."

Dapples pawed slowly three times.

"Right," cried his trainer. Then Jerry fell to examining his own clothes critically.

"Dapples," he said at last, "I forgot to brush my clothes when I came away from home. Bring the brush and brush me."

The pony obediently trotted to a nearby desk and brought a clothes-brush, holding the handle with his teeth. Then Dapples very painstakingly brushed Jerry, while the children laughed and clapped.


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 "All right," cried Jerry when he had finished. "I think it is time for school to begin. Put away the brush and ring the bell."

The pony trotted to the desk and took up a small dinner-bell. This he held in his teeth, and, by shaking his head, rang it vigorously. "Perhaps all the children cannot hear from this distance. Go up the track and ring the bell," said Jerry. Dapples obediently trotted away, ringing his bell, while the children shouted with glee. Finally Jerry whistled to him, and he came back, ringing the bell all the time.

"Now take your place at the desk and school will begin."

The little horse obediently climbed upon a platform behind the desk, while Jerry put a very large pair of spectacles on him. This made him look as wise as an owl. "Now look over the books and prepare the day's lessons."

Very deliberately the Shetland opened book after book, taking hold of the covers


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 with his lips and teeth. After seeming to look at the contents of each book for a few seconds, he pushed it aside and took another.

When several minutes had been consumed in this make-believe school, Jerry announced that he had just discovered that the pupils were all at home sick with the measles and the school would be dismissed for that day. So the small horse rang the bell to conclude the school day, and this trick was at an end.

Then Jerry asked different people in the audience to give him numbers of one figure each. He repeated them carefully to Dapples, who in turn noted each by pawing with his fore-foot. He also added and subtracted in the same way.

All the time that Jerry was giving the small horse these examples in arithmetic he stood with his back to the audience, so that only the judges in the stand in front of him saw the movement of his hand that the small horse watched carefully.


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 Several other amusing tricks were performed, and Jerry finally asked Dapples to conclude his part of the performance with a short prayer.

To the great delight of all the little people, the Shetland got down on his knees and bowed his head. He stayed in that position until his master cried, "Amen." Then he got up with a spring which made every one laugh.

Such a round of applause as greeted the conclusion of these tricks was rarely heard at the fair.

When Jerry was leading Dapples back to the stable where he would stay until they were ready to go home, a well-known London animal dealer stepped up to him.

"What will you take for the little horse?" he asked.

"He isn't for sale, sir," returned Jerry quickly. "Sir Arthur does not need money as much as the children need Dapples."

"All right," returned the animal buyer.


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 "He is a clever little horse just the same. I think he could be developed for a circus trick pony. That was what I had in mind. If you ever do conclude to sell him, let me know." He put his card in Jerry's hand.

It was true that Sir Arthur did not need money at that time, and no one could foresee the financial disaster which overtook Rosemere's owner the following spring. He became involved in a great South African mining failure, and not only Rosemere, but everything that Sir Arthur possessed, went under the sheriff's hammer. So it happened that the animal buyer from London was notified. He came up, and Dapples was struck off to him for one hundred pounds.

So with many tears the English children said good-byes to the Shetland, just as the other two children had on the Island of Shetland three years before, and Dapples sailed away to America to join the circus. He went in the company of two elephants, a giraffe, two cages of monkeys, and a


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 cage of tropical birds. Thus his circus life had already begun even before he landed in New York. He was at once forwarded to the circus, where he began his strange adventures as a trick pony.

Here he met the boy whom he came to love above all other people, the one who was finally to be his owner.


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HREE small boys called Freckles, Pickles, and Beany sat on the top of the high board fence that surrounded the railroad switch-yards, waiting for the first section of Bingham and Daily's Great American Circus, which was to show in town that day. Of course the three boys had other names, but these names were what the "fellers" called them, and that is what goes in Boytown.

The clock on the city hall had just struck four, and yet the boys had been there for half an hour. The top board of the fence cut into them badly, yet they did not mind. They could not have told whether they were sitting on a sharp cut-


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 ting board, or in an easy-chair, for they were thinking of nothing but the coming show. The first rosy streak of day was just appearing in the east. The robins had just begun their morning song. Even the milk wagons had not yet rattled into the city.

Yet there were others astir besides the enterprising three. Farther on down the yard other boyish figures might be seen—balancing on the fence. A truck farmer who had come early to town had stopped with his load of wares just outside the yard. He expected a good business at high prices. But he was not likely to "put anything over" on the circus people. They are well prepared. They come to town expecting to meet all emergencies, so they would not be as easy as the farmer thought.

Freckles, the largest of the three boys, was an orphan. He lived up at the poor-farm, but, notwithstanding that, he was very popular with the boys.


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 Pickles was conducting the party, for he had an uncle in the circus business, who had told him all about the great American show. So he was expected to explain everything to the other two.

Freckles had come down to the yards partly because of his great love for horses, a love that he had not been able to fully indulge. True, he had ridden the colt up in the pasture at the poor-farm, until he could ride like a monkey, but this had been on the sly. For Mr. Perkins, the keeper of the farm, was a rather stern man, and he did not approve of Freckles running the colt up and down the lot half the time, as he would have liked to do. Besides, the colt was just an ordinary horse. Freckles loved him more than any other animal in the whole world, but he was a rusty brown and his mane and tail were not heavy nor luxuriant. His boyish heart yearned for a real beautiful, prancing, dancing steed that would race with him until he dropped.


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 "Gee," said Beany at length, "I wish it would hurry up. This board is gettin' sharp." But the words were barely out of his mouth when the locomotive whistle sounded and the yardmaster and switch-men hurried into the yard to help in the disposition of the section. Presently it came thundering and panting, hissing and roaring, into the yard.

A mighty locomotive drew the section, which was made up of about thirty gaudy, gilded cars. They were almost a show in themselves, even before they disgorged their wonderful freight. The locomotive stopped almost in front of the three boys, and they were all excitement.

"Now, fellers," cried Pickles, "you just keep your eyes open and I will tell you all about it. See that chap with the blue coat and the eap, the one just climbing down from the first car? That is the mailman. He's headed straight for the post-office. He goes three times a day and gets a bushel of mail each time. See that


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 big, swell-looking guy just behind him. He is the general manager. Things go about as he says or there is trouble. See that third feller. Looks like a baseball player or a wrestler. He is the show's detective, and he is headed for the police station. He tells the local cops what to look out for. The feller in the ticket-wagon has got a stiff job, too. Often after the night show there are thousands of dollars left in the wagon. That feller sleeps on two guns, and if any one tried to rob that wagon they would get plugged, you bet. He can shoot like an Injun, and he ain't afraid, either. My uncle says that the crooks haven't ever robbed a circus ticket-wagon yet."

"What are all these people coming out of these two first cars?" asked Beany. "They don't look much like circus people."

"You just wait until you see 'em in the ring. Tights and spangles and war paint make a lot of difference. Those coming


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 from the first car are the general manager's helpers. Those from the other are tumblers and acrobats and all sorts of dare-devils. See 'em rubbing their joints and limping down the steps; guess some of 'em get pretty stiff. My uncle says it's hard work, and no mistake. Come, fellers, let's go down to the tail end of the section and see them unload the wagons. That's where all the fun will be now." So the three slid down from the fence and ran for the last car.

They were none too soon, for old Whitey, the unloading horse, was already in place. A heavy pulley had been rigged. One end of a large rope was fastened to a convenient telegraph pole, while old Whitey's whiffletree was fastened to the other. When all was in readiness, the short chain connecting with the pulley was fastened to wagon Number One, and quicker than you could say it, the wagon came rolling off the sloping platform at the rear of the car, and was landed


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 safe on the ground without so much as a scratch. Six heavy draft-horses were waiting for it. In no time they were hitched to the first wagon. The driver clambered to his seat, his whip cracked, and the first stake-and-chain wagon had started for the grounds.

"We'll see them drive those stakes and stretch the ropes when we get down to the lot," explained Pickles.

Then there were more stake-and-chain wagons, canvas wagons, centre-pole and side-pole wagons, water-tank wagons, and wagons containing all the thousand and one things that were needed at once on the grounds. No matter how fast old Whitey pulled the wagons off the train with his pulley, the team of horses which belonged to the wagons was always in waiting. The whole moved along like a great machine. Everything was in place. Nothing was missing. Each man and animal knew just what he was to do, and did it in the shortest possible time. "Gee," said Freckles,


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 when he had watched in silence for a while, "they work like soldiers."

"You bet they do," replied Pickles. "My uncle says that the circus won't stand for no nonsense. They are good to you as long as you keep at your work, but if you get to fooling or don't deliver the goods, it is good-night to your job."

In half an hour's time the section had been unloaded, and the wagons were rattling away toward the circus grounds. But this was none too soon. For, just as the last wagon disappeared, the second engine-whistle sounded and another gorgeous, gilded section rolled into sight. This was switched on to a track close to the first, and again Whitey began snaking the wagons from the long cars.

"More people in the first two cars," explained Pickles. "All sorts of performers and their togs and all their trunks in the cars behind. Gee, fellers! The elephants and the giraffes and the camels are on this section."


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 Again the three youngsters took a commanding position and watched while the section disgorged its load of wonders. They were the most interested in the unloading of the animals. But Freckles's attention was soon claimed by some of the chariot and ring horses, that now stepped daintily from a car devoted especially to them. But he fairly went wild when they began unloading a car of special riding ponies, among which were several Shetlands.

One of these, a beautiful dapple bay, especially claimed his attention. This pony's coat shone like satin, and he held his head high and stepped like a thoroughbred.

"Fellers, fellers, look at him!" cried Freckles. "Ain't he a peach! I mean the dapple bay pony. Gee, wouldn't I like to ride him." Freckles was so excited about the dapple pony that he wanted to follow after him to the circus lot at once, but the others would not.


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 They wanted to wait and see the other sections unloaded.

"In the third section there will be all animals in cages. That section has got some of the best wagons. We mustn't miss that," explained Pickles. So Freckles assented, although he could think of nothing but the pony that had just trotted away to the circus lot. Finally the last section had been unloaded, and Pickles had pointed out the owner's car, at the, very end of the last section.

"He's the High-Mucky-Muck. He allus travels in that last car, so he can see it is all moving along all right ahead of him. If there is a wreck, he is on the ground in no time. That's him, the big fat feller. I saw his picture on a bill-board the other day. Gee, I guess he is a rich guy. He could buy this whole town."

"Come, fellers, let's go to the lot," put in Freckles.

"All right," assented his companions.


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 So the three started on the run for the grounds.

To their great surprise, when they reached the lot, the dining-tent was already up, as well as the restaurant and the barber's tent, complete even to its painted pole.

"You see, the dining-tent goes up first; they call it a top," explained Pickles, drawing upon his superior knowledge. "These circus fellers can eat like Annie Conda, my uncle says."

His companions did not know what sort of young lady Annie Conda might be, but they did not dare display their ignorance by asking questions.

"See that guy with the steel tape, measuring and driving down small stakes. He is laying out one of the big tops. I guess it is the menagerie tent. Pretty soon the stake-and-chain wagon will come along. There it is."

Hundreds of feet of large rope and countless stakes were soon tumbled out on


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 the ground, and men with sledge-hammers began driving in large stakes where the small ones had been. Almost before they knew it, the perimeter of the menagerie tent had been laid out.

"Come, fellers, run. They are hauling up the big top. Hurry."

The three made all speed toward the spot where the big top was going up. Two horses were raising the centre-pole and much of the canvas at a single stroke. When the centre-poles had been hauled into an upright position, they were made fast by guy-ropes, and the framework for the big top was in place. Meanwhile other men had been setting up the sidepoles. These were twelve feet high and twelve feet apart. Still other men were lacing together the canvas for the side walls. That likewise went up like magic, and everything was ready with the exception of the seats. But while the wondering boys were speculating about these, a chair wagon rattled up and men began


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 placing the seats in seemingly endless tiers.

Meanwhile, as the big top rapidly approached completion, other small tents were springing into place everywhere. Side-show wagons were taking their positions. Already the cries of venders had begun on the outskirts of the grounds. Soon the cracking of! whips and the cries of the side-show men would be heard everywhere.

"It makes me dizzy," said Beany. "I never saw things go up like this, Gee, wouldn't it be fine to live with the circus and see all this every day?"

Freckles was thinking the same thing, but he said nothing.

The three boys hung about the circus grounds, munching peanuts and watching this wonderful life until the parade made up. If they had been amazed at the way in which this tented town had sprung up before their very eyes, they were equally astonished to see the circus wagons trans-


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 formed and made ready for the street parade. Pompons and tassels were placed on the horses' heads, and in some cases gay blankets were thrown upon their backs. Then cowboys, Turks, Moors, Indians, and all sorts of picturesque people began pouring out of the dressing top and taking their places in the parade. Two huge elephants appeared from no one knew where, with their glittering howdahs in place and dark Hindoos driving them. They were followed by three camels, upon whose broad saddles sat dark Moors, men who, an hour before, had been sweating away with tent-pole and canvas. Then they were French or Italians, but now they were Moors. There was no mistake about that. When everything was nearly in readiness the boys started for the main street of the small city, that they might get a good place to view the parade. They were amazed to see the crowd that lined all the street along which it had been shouted from the housetops for weeks that


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 the circus would parade. They had some difficulty in finding just the place that they wanted, but they finally managed it.

When the glittering pageant at last appeared, they were perched like three monkeys on the top step of one of the churches of the town. They were sure of a fine view, for the parade would pass immediately in front of them. First rode one of the managers dressed like a herald. Then came the Queen of Sheba, mounted upon a wonderful milk-white horse. Her crown sparkled in the sunlight, and her regal robes fairly made the eyes ache. She carried herself with dignity, even if she had once been a waitress in a hotel. Close behind her the first of the three blaring circus bands poured out a flood of stirring music. Their instruments shone, and their uniforms glittered as only those of a circus band can.

Then came the two stately, swaying elephants, looking for all the world just as


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 though they had stepped right out of India. Close behind them came the camels, with their gay trappings and their tiny bells tinkling softly. Then followed such an array of strange people from all parts of the world that I despair of ever describing it. Probably the group that most strongly appealed to the three boys was that of the cowboys, Indian fighters, and Indians, all suggesting dare-devil stunts which would come later on in the ring.

Small children laughed and clapped, men and women asked questions of each other and called to the little people to see this or that. While above the babel of human voices the three bands blared and the calliopes shrieked, and the rattle of the heavy wagons went steadily on.

Midway in the parade the strangest rig that the boys ever had seen suddenly appeared. It was a dilapidated old express wagon, drawn by a rat-tailed white horse. The harness was mended with rope, and a bunch of straw clung to the pad. The


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 strange rube who sat in the wagon was dressed in blue denim overalls, and wore a jumper. His hat was a battered palmleaf, and a wisp of his red hair stuck through the crown. He continually guided his ramshackle rig from one side of the street to the other, while the men in the parade shouted at him and threatened him with their whips.

"Look at the rube! Look at Uncle Jerry from Punkin Holler! Ain't he a scream!" cried Freckles. "See him, fellers. Did you ever see such a rube before?"

"Ah, pshaw, Freckles, you are green. Don't you know he's a part of the parade? I saw them unload his old rig this morning, but I did not remember what my uncle told me then.

"They always carry a rube along to get all mixed up with the parade and make fun. He's one of the clowns."

"You mean to say that he belongs to the parade?" asked Beany incredulously.


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 "I don't believe it. Why, see how he is hindering things."

"But just see how the crowd enjoy him," returned Pickles. "Why, he's the best laugh-maker in the parade. He's a part of the parade all right."

But at this point the dappled Shetland, which had so captivated Freckles's heart in the morning, appeared. He was wearing a shining harness and drew a glittering basket phaeton. He was driven by a boy of about Freckles's own age. The boy seemed to have perfect control over the small horse, for he danced, waltzed, and even reared on his hind legs at a touch of the whip and a pull on the line by the young driver.

Freckles fairly gasped at the sight of him. "See him, see him, fellers. Look at him dance. See him rear. My, ain't he a pippin? Ain't he the dearest little horse?" Here words failed the orphan from the poor-farm, and he sat in speechless admiration until Dapples and his


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 driver had disappeared. When they were out of sight he sighed deeply and caught his two chums by their sleeves. "Fellers," he said, and his voice trembled and there were tears in his eyes, "I would ruther be that boy and drive that pony than to own the whole rest of the circus."

"Ah, pshaw," returned Pickles. "Why, the owner of this show is a millionaire."

"I would ruther be a cowboy than drive that pony, anyhow," put in Beany scornfully. "The Wild West for me every time. I like shooting and scalping."

From this point on the three sat in silence while the wonders of the great American show rattled by. When the last wagon finally disappeared, they climbed down from their church step and made an appointment to meet at the entrance to the menagerie top at two o'clock. All three had been fortunate enough to earn tickets by helping on the lot, and there was a red-letter afternoon ahead of


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 them that nearly spoiled their appetites for dinner.

They spent a wondering half-hour roaming through the menagerie tent and inspecting the animals and birds from all parts of the commonly known world, and some from parts very little known. They especially enjoyed feeding the elephants peanuts.

When the mammoth three-ringed show finally opened in the big top the boys were perched upon one of the high seats in readiness for all the circus had to give. Nor were they disappointed. It was as the bills had announced, larger and more stupendous than ever before. Tumblers and trapeze men and women kept them in breathless suspense. Men and women seemed to perform in the very top of the tent just as unconcernedly as though they had been only a few feet from the ground. The bands blared, and wild animals performed, while the clowns sweated and screamed to keep the crowd good-natured.


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 Wonder succeeded wonder, and miracle succeeded miracle.

Beany and Pickles went wild and shouted and gesticulated, but Freckles was quiet, watching and waiting for the coming of the little horse, who, he knew, was called Sir Wilton III. He had discovered this from a bill-board, and his driver was Tony Riata, the world's greatest boy equestrian, whatever that might be.

Finally Dapples appeared, and Freckles settled back in his seat in perfect bliss.

First he appeared as a saddle pony. He galloped, trotted, and ran. His rider clung to the saddle by one hand and one foot, then sprang from his back and raced by his side, only to spring lightly on at the right moment. They at once captivated the crowd. Finally they disappeared, and a few minutes later the little horse reappeared as Sir Wilton, the trick pony. Here Dapples again went through all the tricks that his old groom, Jerry McCoy,


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 had taught him in England. He told the time by the boy's watch. He multiplied, subtracted, and divided. He brushed his small master's clothes, just as he had Jerry's. He went carefully through his schoolmaster stunt, to the great amusement of the children, and finally he mounted a small platform to do his trapeze act. The trapeze was a swinging floor just large enough for the small horse to stand on, and about three feet above the platform. The boy went up to the trapeze and started it swinging. Dapples, with legs braced, stood watching it carefully. Finally, at just the right second, when it had approached very close to him, he sprang upon it, and, turning about, made a low bow to the audience. Then he faced about again and set the trapeze to rocking so that he could spring back on the platform. This he accomplished with ease. His small driver then sprang upon his back, and both disappeared amid thunderous applause.


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 It seemed to Freckles at this point in the show that he could scarcely breathe. There was something about the little horse that made him want to cry. Not that he felt bad, he could not have just told how he felt, but the Shetland stirred him all up inside, as he told his chums.

When the afternoon show was over, the three went to the horse tent, at Freckles's suggestion, to see if they could get a closer view of Dapples. Here they found Tony, the driver, and one of the ringmasters in a lively wrangle. The man had the greatest boy equestrian by the collar and was pointing out to him three cruel-looking whip marks on Dapples's sleek side.

The boys drew closer to hear what it was all about.

"How did he get those whip marks? Tell me the truth if you know what the truth is," growled the ringmaster.

"Well, if you must know, I give 'em to him. He wouldn't mind," returned the boy sullenly.


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 "Haven't I told you again and again that you mustn't whip him? He's too high-strung. You'll spoil him."

"As long as I drive him I will whip him whenever I think best," returned Tony defiantly. He was Italian, and his blood was hot. But the ringmaster had a temper also.

"You defy me, do you, you young cub. Well, I'll teach you." He lifted the boy by his collar from the ground and shook him as a cat would a mouse. The greatest boy equestrian kicked at him savagely and then began to cry.

"You let me go, you fool. If you don't, you will wish you had. If you don't, I'll—I'll poison Sir Wilton. That's what I'll do."

"You will, will you? I am glad to know what evil you have in your dirty heart. You are fired. Go to the paymaster and get your wages this minute, and you leave the circus within the hour or I will have you arrested. I will


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 teach you to threaten this show. Now git."

The now thoroughly frightened boy did not need a further invitation, but very promptly "got."

Freckles went up to Dapples and tenderly stroked the whip marks on his sides. He was boiling with rage. He wanted to go after the boy and thrash him within an inch of his life, although he was much larger than Freckles. There were tears in his eyes, and several of them coursed down his freckled face. The ringmaster saw it and was amazed.

"I see you like horses, boy," he said kindly.

"I love them," blurted Freckles. "Why, I would kill the man or boy that would lick this little horse. I'd like to see that feller for a few minutes behind the poor-farm barn."

An idea came to the ringmaster. It came like an inspiration. He was used to taking a chance, and he was now in trou-


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 ble. One of the circus's best attractions was minus a performer. Dapples could not perform alone.

"So you live at the poor-farm, do you?" he inquired of Freckles.

"Yes, I have always lived there."

"Have you any parents or relatives?"

"No," returned Freckles, "not a one that I know of."

"If you like horses," the ringmaster said, "perhaps you can ride. Some boys ride naturally. They don't have to be taught."

"Ride, yes," cried Freckles. "I can ride anything that has four legs and a tail and is called a horse. I can do almost as well as this equestrian wonder on the poor-farm colt."

"How would you like to ride Sir Wilton?"

Freckles looked at the ringmaster in amazement for several seconds, then buried his face in the heavy mane of the Shetland and sobbed for joy.


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 Finally he lifted his tear-stained, beaming countenance to the ringmaster.

"Mister," he said, "if you wanted me to, and I had to, I could ride this little horse through fire and not git burned a bit."

The circus man threw back his head and laughed long and loud.

"I like that kind of talk," he said at last. "That is the true circus spirit. Bring the pony into the ring and I will see what you can do."

It needed only a few minutes to convince the circus man that Freckles was a natural-born rider. He rode like a monkey. Nothing could break his hold in the saddle. He was, of course, not so polished a rider as the discharged Tony, but he would equal him in a very few days, with proper training.

Together they led Dapples back to the horse tent.

"How would you like to jump the poor-farm and go with the circus, and ride


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 the little horse every day?" asked the ringmaster at last.

"Oh! Oh! I'd like it better than anything else in the world. I would work every hour of the day to learn. I would be as good to him as though he was my brother. I never would strike him, and I would thrash any one who did."

Freckles's eyes shone like stars. His face was radiant and his voice trembled. The ringmaster divined at once that he was a real horse-lover and a boy that he could trust. He was the sort the circus was looking for.

"All right, boy," he said. "You're on."


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FTER the ringmaster's statement that Freckles "was on" had been fully comprehended, the three chums went to a lumber pile at the edge of the circus lot to talk it over. Freckles himself was the most dazed and thunderstruck of the three. To his friends he had suddenly become a mighty hero. If he had been elevated to the Presidency of the United States, they would not have viewed him with more respect. They spoke to him in a new, awe-struck tone, and kept looking at him askance, to discover, if possible, if he were really the same old Freckles.

"Gee, fellers," said Freckles after a short pause, which was more eloquent than


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 words, "I can't believe it. I guess I must be dreaming."

"No, you ain't," cried Beany. "We both heard him say it. He said you was on, and that you was to drive Sir Wilton as soon as you could learn his tricks."

"That's so," affirmed Pickles. "My uncle says that lots of strange things happen in the circus. Why, there was once a girl who wanted to belong to the circus. Her folks were rich and they didn't want her to, so they sent her to Europe. But even there she ran away and fell in love with a bareback rider, and became the most wonderful rider in the world. He told me lots of other strange things. He says that lots of Presidents of the United States would have made good bareback riders, because they can flop over so easy."

"Gee, I wonder what they will say at the poor-farm?" inquired Beany.

"Oh, they will be glad enough to get rid of me," returned Freckles. "I sha'n't say any farewells. The ringmaster said not


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 to. I'm not even going home. There isn't anything there I care about except Shep, and he don't belong to me, but he loves me better than he does Mr. Brown. Don't you fellers let on that you know where I have gone, not for a week anyway. Of course they might send for me, but I guess they'll be glad enough to git rid of me."

"Gee, but I wish I was you," put in Beany.

"Me, too," said Pickles.

"No, fellers," said Freckles. "You are both wrong. You are much better off than I am, even if I am going to join the circus, because you have got your homes and folks. Fellers, you can't imagine how much I want a home and some one to love. I miss it every day of my life. Fellers, I haven't ever had a mother to say good-night to." Freckles turned his head and wiped his cheek with his sleeve. His chums thought they knew how he felt, but they didn't.


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 "I guess you are right," said Pickles; "but if you ain't got a mother, you have got me and Beany to love you. We like you just as though you was our brother, don't we, Beany?"

"You bet," cried Beany. "Put it there, Freckles, old pal."

Very solemnly the three shook hands and vowed eternal friendship. Few people realize how deep and sincere these boy friendships are, but the three could have enlightened them.

Finally, when Freckles's future had been discussed from all its angles, Pickles and Beany went home to supper, while Freckles stayed, at the invitation of the ringmaster, to eat in the large dining-tent with the circus people. The three boys planned to meet again at the evening show, and were to say good-bye at Freckles's car in the second section after the performance was over.

Freckles was all excitement when he followed the ringmaster into the dining


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 tent that evening. About five hundred people were already seated, and laughter and jollity prevailed, although some of them looked tired, as they had a right to.

Freckles thought that pork and beans and brown bread had never tasted so good to him before in his life as they did this evening. The squash pie and doughnuts also seemed to have a flavor all their own, but the ice-cream and coffee, with which they ended the simple supper, made a perfect meal for the hungry boy. He talked very little, just answering the ringmaster's questions as briefly as possible.

While the ice-cream and coffee were being dispatched Mr. Bingham rapped on his table and made a few remarks. He complimented several of the performers on the day's work, and spoke of some things that he thought could be improved. When he had finished, Mr. Daily, the other partner in the show, arose and spoke of several infringements of the rules of the circus which he had noted of late. "You


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 know, the circus is a sort of army," he concluded. "We must have obedience and absolute working of all the parts. I trust I shall not have to speak of these things again."

After supper the ringmaster told Freckles that he might go where he wished until the evening show, so he went down to the horse tent to see Dapples. He found the little horse munching oats, but he looked up inquiringly when the boy approached him. At first he drew back and acted afraid when Freckles attempted to stroke his face, but he finally consented to be petted. When Freckles had petted and talked to him for perhaps fifteen minutes, he stepped behind the pony next to Dapples, that he might examine him. He was a beautiful black, but not so handsome as Sir Wilton. As Freckles stood there, smoothing out the pony's mane and wondering how much a horse like Dapples would cost, he saw a boy of about his own age enter the tent from the other end. It


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 was not until he had advanced within three or four yards of where Dapples was munching his oats that Freckles recognized Tony Riata, the discharged boyrider whose place he was to take. Instinctively Freckles stooped behind the black pony and watched Tony from his place of concealment. The boy looked carefully about to see that none of the grooms were in the tent, then he quickly slipped in beside Dapples.

"Eating your supper, are you, you stubborn little fool? Well, I will teach them to shake me and then fire me. I will show them. I'm a bad boy, and I guess they will find it out, too."

With these words he took a small package from his pocket, and, again looking about to see that he was alone, he scattered its contents over Dapples's oats.

Dapples crowded over against the black pony, to get as far as possible from his late cruel driver. Freckles stood on his tiptoes to see what it was that Tony had done


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 to Dapples's oats, for he remembered with a mighty rage and fear the boy's threat to poison Sir Wilton. As he peered over the neck of the black horse, his eyes and those of Tony met.

"Hello, you monkey-faced sneak," cried Tony. "Spying on me, are you? Well, if I could get a crack at that speckled phiz of yours, I would make it more ugly than it is now."

"What was you doing to the little horse's oats?" asked Freckles, for the moment ignoring the insult. Then Tony remembered, and he was both afraid and terribly angry that he had been discovered.

"I wasn't doing nuthin'. I just came to see that he was fed."

"You put something on his oats. I know you did. I saw you." With these words Freckles slipped under the necks of the two ponies and peered into Dapples's temporary manger. The oats were covered with a green powder. He quickly


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 dropped his cap over the oats and turned upon the defiant Tony.

"You have tried to poison him, you sneak. A boy that would poison a little horse like him ought to be thrashed. He ought ter be killed."

"You ain't the one to do it, anyhow. You are just a cheap sneak. You couldn't ride a pig. I peeped through the tent and saw you try to ride Sir Wilton. You ought to have a pig to ride, monkey-face." With the last words Tony reached up and slapped Freckles on the cheek soundly.

Quick as a flash Freckles returned a stinging blow on the dandy's face.

This astonished Tony greatly, for he was something of a bully, and had not thought this green-looking country boy would fight.

A moment he hesitated. His better course was to flee, but he was boiling with anger because of his day's bad fortune, and he wanted to vent it on some one.


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 This boy who had dispossessed him was the natural vent for his rage. So he came back with a blow on Freckles's chin that made him stagger. This was enough for Freckles. He had been boiling with rage over the three cruel whip marks on Dapples's side. In addition to that, he knew that the oats in the manger were poisoned. He glanced about to see that Dapples was not eating them, and his adversary landed one on his ear. Like a little fury he whirled and flew at the dark-faced boy, and the battle was on.

Freckles did not know that fighting was second nature to Tony, and that he had been in many battles and understood boxing, but, even if he had, it would have made no difference. Some one had got to be thrashed. He would at least punish the sneering Tony, even if he did get a good mauling himself.

Two of the ponies that had stood next to Dapples on the side opposite the black Shetland had been removed, and were now


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 about to perform in the big tent. That left just enough room for the fight that was raging in desperate earnest.

Freckles set his teeth and fought as he had never fought before, but the stranger punished him badly from the start. He soon found that Tony was as light on his feet as a rabbit, and that he could dodge like a flash and give two blows for one. He landed three blows on Freckles's face and one in his stomach, which nearly doubled him up, before the boy had even scored a hit. Then Freckles luckily landed one on the end of his adversary's nose. This started the blood freely, but did little damage, yet it was encouraging. But the advantage was of short duration, for Tony soon closed one of Freckles's eyes with a stinging smash that made the poor boy see stars. Tony followed up this with another blow on the cheek while Freckles was still dazed. Then Freckles's mighty rage came to his assistance, giving him twice his ordinary strength and skill,


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 and he punched in two of his adversary's teeth.

"There, you black sneak. You will have that to remember me by for a spell, I guess."

The idea that his beautiful face had been disfigured so enraged Tony that he clinched with Freckles, and the two went rolling about on the grass, almost under the heels of the horses. Finally they stopped rolling in a slight depression, and Tony was on top. "There, now I will teach you to spy on me and to take away my job, monkey-face." He planted his knees upon poor Freckles's chest and began raining blow after blow on his face. The plight of Freckles would have soon been serious, but just then a strong hand seized the coat collar of Tony and lifted him bodily from his victim. Tony looked up, and the angry face of the ringmaster was glowering down upon him.

"I thought I told you to clear out, or I would have you arrested," he thundered.


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 "Well, it is not too late now. I will see that you don't get away this time. I presume you were up to some deviltry again."

"He came here to poison the little horse, and I caught him," panted Freckles.

"He's a liar," cried the somewhat subdued Tony, who now saw that his plight was desperate. While he had been speaking he had been slyly unbuttoning his coat, the collar of which the ringmaster held firmly.

"Poisoning Sir Wilton? If that is so, he'll sweat for it. I"

"Look out, mister. He is getting away from you," shouted Freckles, but he spoke too late.

The crafty Tony, who was as slippery as an eel, slipped from his coat, leaving the empty garment in the hands of the astonished ringmaster, while he glided beneath the man's arm and fled down the aisle between the horses.


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 "Stop him, catch him," cried the ringmaster; but there was no one present to do his bidding.

"Well, if he isn't a slippery little devil! But I guess we have seen the last of him. He will get out of here lively, or I miss my guess.

"He has no mind to sleep in the calaboose. He was poisoning Sir Wilton, did you say?"

"Yes," replied Freckles. "Look here in the manger."

They stepped to the box wherein Dapples's oats had been placed, and Freckles removed his cap from over the pony's supper.

The ringmaster stooped and looked critically for a few seconds.

"I guess you were just in time, boy," he said at last. "It is Paris green, and no mistake. You have saved Sir Wilton this time. Come out to the light and let me see if he hurt you much."

"Oh, I am all right," said Freckles.


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 "If the little horse is all right, I don't mind about myself."

The ringmaster clapped Freckles on the back in a friendly way. "Oh, he's all right, and you are all right, too. You will make a good pair. I am glad I have found you, boy. Come, the evening performance is on."

In the big top that evening, perched upon the highest seat, the three chums again saw the stupendous show. It now had a new meaning for them.

Pickles and Beany were interested because their chum, Freckles, was soon to join his fortunes with the circus, and Freckles himself looked at the spectacle almost with fear. Pickles and Beany were very much excited and talked like magpies, but Freckles was rather quiet.

"What makes you so glum, old chum?" asked Pickles. "I should think you would be so excited you could not stay in your seat. I would, if I was going with the show."


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Rh thereof, viz, Sakra. From that time forth, O monarch, all kings, following Vasu's example, plant a pole for the celebration of Indra's worship. The next-day, the pole that is erected is decked with golden cloth and scents and garlands and various ornaments. And the gods Vasava is worshipped in due form with such garlands and ornaments. And the god, for the gratification of the illustrious Vasu, assuming the form of a swan came himself to accept the worship thus offered. And the god, the great Indra, beholding the auspicious worship thus made by Vasu—that just of monarchs, was delighted, and said unto him, 'Those men, and kings also, who shall worship me and joyously observe this festivity of mine like the king of Chedi, shall have glory and victory for the countries and kingdoms. And their cities also shall expand and be ever in joy.'

"King Vasu was thus blessed by the gratified Maghavat—the high-souled chief of the gods. Indeed, those men who cause this festivity of Sakra to be observed with gifts of land, of gems and precious stones, do become the respected of the world. And king Vasu—the lord of Chedi—bestowing boons and performing great sacrifices and observing the festivity of Sakra, was respected by Indra. And from Chedi he ruled the whole world virtuously. And for the gratification of Indra, Vasu, the lord of Chedi, observed the festivity of Indra.

"And Vasu had five sons of great energy and immeasurable prowess. And the emperor installed his sons as governors of various provinces.

"And his son Vrihadratha was installed in Magadha and was known by the name of Maharatha. And another son of his was Pratyagra; and another, Kusamva, who was also called Mani-vahana. And the two others were Mavellyn and Yadu of great prowess and invincible in war.

"These, O monarch, were the sons of that royal sage of mighty energy. And the five sons of Vasu planted kingdoms and towns in their own names and founded separate dynasties that lasted for long ages.

"And when king Vasu was seated on that crystal car, the gift of Indra, and coursed through the sky, he was approached


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 "Perhaps you would and perhaps you wouldn't," returned Freckles thoughtfully. He was apparently looking at the amazing stunts of the trapeze performers, but he was not seeing them. Instead, he was seeing the little bedroom at the poor-farm where he had always slept, as far back as he could remember.

"If there is anything troubling you, Freckles, you had better tell Pickles and me," said Beany at length. "We are your friends, and we will do what we can."

"No, it ain't anything special," replied Freckles, "but it is this way. I don't suppose I can make you fellers understand anyhow. You see, you have got homes and I haven't. So when you haven't got any home, almost any place where you stay for a spell gets to be home. It don't matter if people are mean to you, and you say you would like to run away and never see them again. You see, fellers, I haven't ever had a mother. But I can't help thinking how, when I was a little chap,


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 Mrs. Perkins used to brush my hair and dress me up to go to church. She was always scolding and nagging me, but she was a sorter mother. She'd fly around and act real scart if I had the croup."

"Oh, any one would do that," put in Pickles. "I guess they didn't waste no love on you at the poor-farm."

"No," returned Freckles sorrowfully. "They didn't waste none, but I guess they gave me a litile. I guess they will miss me when I am gone. A poor-farm ain't much of a home, but if it is all you have got, then it is your home."

"If it was me, I would be glad enough to clear out," said Beany emphatically.

Poor Freckles looked at him in a helpless way and sighed. "Well," he said, "I suppose it sounds queer to you fellers, but the poor-farm is my only home, so it is a sort of home, and I shall miss it. It makes you feel queer to be pulled up by the roots. I know my roots ain't so long as you fellers that has homes and mothers


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 and brothers and sisters, but they are all the roots've got and I—I". Here poor Freckles became incoherent, and his chums respected his feelings and looked hard at the show. When the last astounding feat had been performed and the band had sounded its last ear-splitting blare, the great crowd poured out of the big tent.

"Look, fellers," cried Beany, all excitement. "See what they have done while we were in the big tent. Why, the tents are all gone."

Freckles and Pickles looked, and saw that it was as Beany said. The great menagerie tent, through which they had entered, had disappeared, together with the animals. All the smaller tents had been taken down, too, so the circus lot now looked almost deserted.

The three chums made all haste to the freight yard, where the ringmaster had told Freckles to report to section two and the second sleeper from the engine.


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 "You must write us every day," said Beany as the three trotted along.

"Oh, yes, I will write often, but I guess I can't every day. The ringmaster says that I will have to work hard for a spell. He wants me to be able to go into the show and drive Sir Wilton in a week, just as Tony did. Gee, it scares me when I think of it, but he says I will get used to the crowd."

"Aw, yes, of course you will," said Pickles contemptuously. "Such crowds as this one to-day won't be anything to you in a few weeks. Just wait until you get to playing in Madison Square. That is where my uncle says you see the crowd."

"Freckles," cried Beany, "if there is ever any opening for a feller in the Wild West shooting department, you write me quick. Tell them I will accept at once."

"Aw, no, you wouldn't," said Pickles scornfully. "His folks wouldn't let him. But if they should ever want a manager's helper, perhaps I might get off."


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 "You fellers are all right just as you are," returned Freckles. "You don't want to join any circus. I wouldn't go if I had a home, not on your life. Well, fellers, I guess it is good-bye. Here is the ringmaster."

Very solemnly the three shook hands, vowing eternal and everlasting friendship.

"I just know you will own the whole show some day, Freckles," said Beany in a whisper. He didn't want the ringmaster to hear such a prophecy. Freckles smiled feebly.

"Good-bye, fellers," he choked. "I—I—we Don't tell any one where I have gone for a week. Then perhaps I will write Mr. Perkins. I won't ever forget you fellers. You have always been good tome. I—I So long, fellers. The ringmaster says I must come now."

Pickles and Beany turned reluctantly while Freckles climbed aboard the sleeper.

"All right, boy," said the circus man


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 cheerily. "I am glad you are here. I know you will like the circus, and you will have great times driving Sir Wilton."

"I am sure I will, sir," returned Freckles simply.

At one end of the sleeper there was a small restaurant. Here ice-cream and coffee were served to the weary circus people, ice-cream being their favorite dish before retiring. The ringmaster secured dishes for himself and Freckles, and they sat down and ate with the jolly crowd. All were joking and laughing and telling amusing stories of the day's doings.

"Boys," said the ringmaster in a lull in the conversation, "I have got a pretty good story to tell you to-night. This boy is the new driver for Sir Wilton. His name is Harry Wilson, but I know you will all call him Freckles. Isn't that what the boys call you?"

"Yes," said Freckles blushing.

"Tony had another fit of temper to-day and whipped Sir Wilton unreasonably.


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 When I spoke to him about it, he defied me, and I fired him. He came back at me by trying to poison the little horse, but this boy prevented it. They were having the liveliest fight I ever saw when I arrived on the scene." Then the ringmaster told of the fight in detail.

"Good for you, boy," cried an old bareback rider when the story was finished. He leaned over and slapped Freckles on the back.

"That is the sort of stuff," said another. "You can't ride a horse unless you love him, and Tony never loved anything but himself."

Several of the performers shook Freckles's hand and said a cheery word to him before retiring, and he was quite overcome by their kindness.

Probably each was thinking of the day when he too had slipped away to join the circus. They did not know just what he had left behind, but anyhow he must be lonesome.


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 When they had finished the ice-cream, the ringmaster led the way to the berth recently used by Tony. In a very few minutes Freckles was undressed and ready for what the night might bring.

The engineer leaned out of the cab and watched until he saw a brakeman's lantern wave three times, then the train began slowly backing onto the main track.

Freckles counted the cars as they bumped over the switch. There were thirty-two in all. The long train stood for a few minutes on the main track, then the locomotive began the long pull to the next town where the Great American Circus was to show. Freckles's car was so close to the engine that he could hear it plainly as he lay in his berth. First it began slowly, and it seemed to his excited imagination to be saying, "Now we are off, now we are off, now we are off." Then it resolved itself into, "See us go, see us go, see us go," over and over, faster and faster. Finally the sounds merged in one


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 long continuous roar and the trip had actually begun.

The next thing Freckles remembered they were bumping slowly over another switch. He looked out of the window in surprise. It was daylight and they were gliding slowly upon the switch in the new town where they were to show that day. Close to the switch-yard there was another high board fence, and on the top board was a row of boys, watching, for all the world, just as the three chums had watched the day before in Freckles's home town. So it would be wherever they went. Dull and unenterprising the town where a few wide-awake boys did not get up in the early hours to greet the circus trains as they pulled into town.

Freckles dressed with alacrity, for his first day of circus work had really begun. He had been detailed to take Sir Wilton down to the grounds, and he was the proudest boy in America. From this time on, he was to see that the small horse


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 reached the grounds each day and was put back in his car each night after his part in the evening's performance.

For a few days while Freckles was learning to drive and ride him, Sir Wilton's part in the performance was to be dispensed with. This day Freckles did not have the leisure to watch the tented town go up, as he had the morning before, for the ringmaster, whose name was Mr. Williams, found plenty for him to do. He was kept very busy until after the parade, and then they went to dinner in the great dining top.

The ringmaster gave Freckles a ticket to the afternoon performance, and told him to watch everything carefully and learn as much as he could.

Freckles was very much astonished, early in the show, to have one of the managers announce that, due to the illness of his recent driver, Sir Wilton's part in the performance would be dropped for that day. But he added, "I am glad to an-


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 nounce that we have secured the services of a celebrated Kentucky boy driver, Leslie Atherton, who will appear with Sir Wilton as soon as they get acquainted."

Poor Freckles heard this announcement with a sinking heart. He could hardly keep back the tears. They had not even given him a chance to show what he could do. Probably the ringmaster would tell him after the performance that he might go back to the poor-farm. So he would not drive the dappled Shetland after all. How disappointed Pickles and Beany would be, and Mr. Perkins would give him a sound thrashing. It had been a great mistake after all, his running away with the circus. After the performance he sought the ringmaster with tears in his eyes.

"Mr. Williams," he said, "I don't think it is right for you to give my job to that Leslie Atherton until I had shown what I could do. I was going to work so hard, I know I could have made good."


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 The ringmaster looked at him in astonishment for a second, then burst into a peal of hearty laughter and slapped Freckles soundly on the back.

"It's all right, son," he said; "don't worry. I guess you and that Atherton boy will get along all right. You didn't expect we was going to say Master Harry Wilson from Pumpkin Holler, did you? Why, that Atherton chap from Kentucky is yourself. Didn't know yourself, did you? Well, you won't know yourself in the glass, either, when you take a look at your driving togs. You are green about the circus. You have a lot to learn. We have to be all glitter and glisten here. It's what takes with the crowd. But come on. Get out Sir Wilton, and I will give you some pointers about how to drive him. Perhaps you can go in the parade to-morrow."

For an hour the boy and small horse worked patiently under Mr. Williams's instruction. This was the first of many


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 hours each day that the man spent with the boy, perfecting him in the handling of the Shetland. But he made remarkable progress from the first. This was because he was a natural horseman, and also because he loved Dapples and the little horse knew it at once. So they worked together like two pals, as indeed they were. But Freckles's best fun was taking care of Dapples and combing and brushing him. He talked to him just as he would have to another boy. He told Dapples all his troubles when he had any, and they were wonderful chums.

Finally the day of Sir Wilton's first performance under his new driver arrived. Freckles was so nervous that he could not eat his dinner. When he finally drove into the ring and saw the mighty sea of faces all staring down at him, his arms went limp and he wondered if he could give the pony the signals for his stunts. But the small horse was the better performer of the two, for he began without


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 the signals, and that gave the frightened boy time to draw himself together and get back his nerve. So they worked together nicely. The performance was not quite so elaborate as that of Tony, but Freckles would do all of his tricks in time. Mr. Williams was much pleased with this first performance and complimented Freckles freely.

"Yes, you are all right, boy. I knew you would be. The secret of it is,—love your work."

One evening when Freckles had been with the circus about two weeks, he was treated to a scene that disclosed to his boyish mind most graphically the fact that the life to which he had linked himself was no child's play.

It was a scene that made his hair stand up with fright and his blood run cold in his veins while it lasted,—just another of those strange tragedies which always follow in the wake of the circus. This is inevitable, since the show deals with the


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 transportation and control of savage and mighty wild animals, which have been taken from their native jungles and made to play a strange part in civilized life.

One of the marvels of this show which had most thrilled the three chums the first day that Freckles saw it, was the performance of El Capitan, a huge elephant, and his trainer, Señorita Angela Rincon, a dark, beautiful girl.

She seemed to have the huge beast under perfect control, and some of his stunts fairly took one's breath away. She would lie upon the ground, and he would slowly pass his great feet over her body, and, as a last feat of carefulness, he would lie down in such a position that the girl was completely under his body, which was partly supported by his legs.

"Gee," said Pickles to Freckles on that never-to-be-forgotten day, "if he should forget and lie clear down, I guess there wouldn't be much girl left."

On the particular night in question they


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 were taking the elephants and all the other animals back to the freight yard to load them on the cars. These animals always go into the ring first, so that they may be loaded while the rest of the show is in progress. Freckles was trudging along with Dapples, and two of the largest of the elephant herd were directly in front of him. El Capitan had been rather cross for several days. Some of the circus people were afraid of him, but not so the fearless Spanish girl, who had gone through the usual tricks with him that evening.

Immediately in front of El Capitan in the little cavalcade which was wending its way back to the freight yards, was another huge elephant called the Emperor. The Emperor was older than Ell Capitan and better-natured. But there had always been strife between the two huge beasts. The manager had noticed it, and was planning to sell one of them. He did not want to part with El Capitan because of his