d, as he gave him a slap. Prince
moved aside, betraying evidence of age and infirmity.

"But--" Tunk repeated with emphasis.

"Ugly?" the teacher queried.

"Ugly!" said Tunk, as if the word were all too feeble for the fact
in hand. "Reg'lar hell on wheels!--that's what he is. Look out!
don't git too nigh him. He ain't no conscience--that hoss ain't."

"Is he fast?"

"Greased lightnin'!" said Tunk, shaking his head. "Won
twenty-seven races."

"You're a good deal of a horseman, I take it." said the teacher.

"Wal, some," said he, expectorating thoughtfully. "But I don't
have no chance here. What d'ye 'spect of a man livin,' with them
ol' maids ?"

He seemed to have more contempt than his words would carry.

"Every night they lock me upstairs," he continued with a look of
injury; "they ain't fit fer nobody t' live with. Ain't got no hoss
but that dummed ol' plug."

He had forgotten his enthusiasm of the preceding moment. His
intellect was a museum of freaks. Therein, Vanity was the
prodigious fat man, Memory the dwarf, and Veracity the living
skeleton. When Vanity rose to show himself, the others left the
stage.

Tunk's face had become suddenly thoughtful and morose. In truth,
he was an arrant and amusing humbug. It has been said that
children are all given to lying in some degree, but seeing the
folly of it in good time, if, indeed, they are not convinced of its
wickedness, train tongue and feeling into the way of truth. The
respect for truth that is the beginning of wisdom had not come to
Tunk. He continued to lie with the cheerful inconsistency of a
child. The' hero of his youth had been a certain driver of
trotting horses, who had a limp and a leaning shoulder. In Tunk,
the limp and the leaning shoulder were an attainment that had come
of no sudden wrench. Such is the power of example, he admired,
then imitated, and at last acquired them. One cannot help thinking
what graces of character and person a like persistency would have
brought to him. But Tunk had equipped himself with horsey heroism,
adorning it to his own fancy. He had never been kicked, he had
never driven a race or been hurled from a sulky at full speed.
Prince, that ancient palfrey, was the most harmless of all
creatures, and would long since have been put out of misery but for
the tender consideration of his owners. And Tunk--well, they used
to say of him, that if he had been truthful, he couldn't have been
alive.