rse, he would let it begin grazing; then,
treacherously sneaking up behind it, he would slash its legs. The animal
would try to escape, to kick, to get away from the blows, and run around
in a circle about its rope, as though it had been inclosed in a circus
ring. And the boy would slash away furiously, running along behind, his
teeth clenched in anger.

Then he would go away slowly, without turning round, while the horse
watched him disappear, his ribs sticking out, panting as a result of his
unusual exertions. Not until the blue blouse of the young peasant was out
of sight would he lower his thin white head to the grass.

As the nights were now warm, Coco was allowed to sleep out of doors, in
the field behind the little wood. Zidore alone went to see him. The boy
threw stones at him to amuse himself. He would sit down on an embankment
about ten feet away and would stay there about half an hour, from time to
time throwing a sharp stone at the old horse, which remained standing
tied before his enemy, watching him continually and not daring to eat
before he was gone.

This one thought persisted in the mind of the young scamp: "Why feed this
horse, which is no longer good for anything?" It seemed to him that this
old nag was stealing the food of the others, the goods of man and God,
that he was even robbing him, Zidore, who was working.

Then, little by little, each day, the boy began to shorten the length of
rope which allowed the horse to graze.

The hungry animal was growing thinner, and starving. Too feeble to break
his bonds, he would stretch his head out toward the tall, green, tempting
grass, so near that he could smell, and yet so far that he could not
touch it.

But one morning Zidore had an idea: it was, not to move Coco any more. He
was tired of walking so far for that old skeleton. He came, however, in
order to enjoy his vengeance. The beast watched him anxiously. He did not
beat him that day. He walked around him with his hands in his pockets. He
even pretended to change his place, but he sank the stake in exactly the
same hole, and went away overjoyed with his invention.

The horse, seeing him leave, neighed to call him back; but the rascal
began to run, leaving him alone, entirely alone in his field, well tied
down and without a blade of grass within reach.

Starving, he tried to reach the grass which he could touch with the end
of his nose. He got on his knees, stretching out his neck and his long,