the desert of Arabia, where Allah created the
horse out o' the south wind. See the slender flanks of the
Barbary? See her eye?"

He seemed to talk in that odd strain for the mere joy of it, and
there was in his voice the God-given vanity of bird or poet.

He had caught the filly by her little plume and stood patting her
forehead.

"A wonderful thing, sor, is the horse's eye," he continued. "A
glance! an' they know if ye be kind or cruel. Sweet Phyllis! Her
eyelids are as bows; her lashes like the beard o' the corn. Have
ye ever heard the three prayers o' the horse?"

"No," said Allen.

"Well, three times a day, sor, he prays, so they say, in the
desert. In the morning he thinks a prayer like this, 'O Allah!
make me beloved o' me master.' At noon, 'Do well by me master that
he may do well by me.' At even, 'O Allah! grant, at last, I may
bear me master into Paradise.'

"An' the Arab, sor, he looks for a hard ride an' many jumps in the
last journey, an' is kind to him all the days of his life, sor, so
he may be able to make it."

For a moment he led her up and down at a quick trot, her dainty
feet touching the earth lightly as a fawn's.

"Thou'rt made for the hot leagues o' the great sand sea," said he,
patting her head. "Ah! thy neck shall be as the bowsprit; thy dust
as the flying spray."

"In one thing you are like Isaiah," said Allen, as he whittled.
"The Lord God hath given thee the tongue of the learned."

"An' if he grant me the power to speak a word in season to him that
is weary, I shall be content," said the tinker.

Dinner over, they came out of doors. The stranger stood filling
his pipe. Something in his talk and manner had gone deep into the
soul of the boy, who now whispered a moment with his father.

"Would you sell the filly?" said Allen. "My boy would like to own
her."

"What, ho, the boy! the beautiful boy! An' would ye love her,
boy?" the tinker asked.

"Yes, sir," the boy answered quickly,

"An' put a ribbon in her forelock, an' a coat o' silk on her back,
an', mind ye, a man o' kindness in the saddle?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then take thy horse, an' Allah grant thou be successful on her as
many times as there be hairs in her skin."

"And the price?" said Allen.

"Name it, an' I'll call thee just."

The business over, the tinker called to Trove, who had led the
filly to her stall,--

"You, there, strike the tents. Bring me the mare. This very day
she may bear me to