dow about the old man.

And the angel said: "Thy prayer is heard, and God doth forgive thee the
score-and-ten years of the promised span of thy life."

And Methuselah gathered up his feet into the bed, and prattling of the
brooks, he fell asleep; and so he slept with his fathers.

FELICE AND PETIT-POULAIN

The name was singularly appropriate, for assuredly Felice was the
happiest of all four-footed creatures. Her nature was gentle; she was
obedient, long-suffering, kind. She had known what it was to toil and
to bear burdens; sometimes she had suffered from hunger and from
thirst; and before she came into the possession of Jacques she had been
beaten, for Pierre, her former owner, was a hard master. But Felice
was always a kind, faithful, and gentle creature; presumably that was
why they named her that pretty name, Felice. She may not have been
happy when Pierre owned and overworked and starved and beat her; that
does not concern us now, for herein it is to tell of that time when she
belonged to Jacques, and Jacques was a merciful man.

Jacques was a farmer; he lived a short distance from Cinqville, which,
as you are probably aware, is a town of considerable importance upon
what used to be the boundary line between France and Germany. The
country round about is devoted to agriculture. You can fancy that,
with its even roads, leafy woods, quiet lanes, velvety paddocks, tall
hedges, and bountiful fields, this country was indeed as pleasant a
home as Felice--or, for that matter, any other properly minded
horse--could hope for. Toward the southern horizon there were hills
that looked a grayish blue from a distance; upon these hills were
vineyards, and the wine that came therefrom is very famous wine, as
your uncle, if he be a club man, will very truly assure you. There was
a pretty little river that curled like a silver snake through the
fertile meadows, and lost its way among the hills, and there were many
tiny brooks that scampered across lots and got tangled up with that
pretty little river in most bewildering fashion. So, as you can
imagine, this was a fair country, and you do not wonder that, with so
merciful a master as Jacques, our friend Felice was happy.

But what perfected her happiness was the coming of her little colt, as
cunning and as blithe a creature as ever whisked a tail or galloped on
four legs. I do not know why they called him by that name, but
Petit-Poulain was what they called him