"Well, that was one of the things that set me
thinkin'; an' then there was another." He cleared his throat and pulled
hard at his pipe; something made him blink,--dust, or smoke, or tears,
perhaps. "Freddie," he half sobbed out, "old Bess is dead. Pore old Bess
died last night o' colic. I 'm afeared the drive to the picnic was too
much fur her."

"Old Bess dead!" cried the boy, grieved and at the same time relieved.
"Who would have thought it? Poor old girl! It seems like losing one of
the family."

"She was one of the family," said the old man brokenly. "She was more
faithful than most human beings." The two stood sadly musing, the boy as
sad as the man. "Old Bess" was the horse that had taken him for his
first ride, that winter morning years before, when the heart of the
child was as cold as the day. Eliphalet Hodges had warmed the little
heart, and, in the years that followed, man, child, and horse had grown
nearer to each other in a queer but sympathetic companionship.

Then, as if recalling his mind from painful reflections, the elder man
spoke again. "But it ain't no use a-worryin' over what can't be helped.
We was both fond o' old Bess, an' I know you feel as bad about losin'
her as I do. But I 'm a-goin' to give her a decent burial, sich as a
Christian ought to have; fur, while the old mare was n't no perfessor,
she lived the life, an' that 's more 'n most perfessors do. Yes, sir, I
'm a-goin' to have her buried: no glue-man fur me. I reckon you 're
a-wantin' to know how old Bess dyin' an' yore a-savin' 'Lizabeth could
run into each other in my mind; but they did. Fur, as I see you standin'
there a-holdin' the little girl, it come to me sudden like, 'Freddie 's
grown now, an' he 'll be havin' a girl of his own purty soon, ef he
'ain't got one now. Mebbe it 'll be 'Lizabeth.'" The old man paused for
a moment; his eyes rested on the boy's fiery face. "Tut, tut," he
resumed, "you ain't ashamed, air you? Well, what air you a-gittin' so
red fur? Havin' a girl ain't nothin' to be ashamed of, or skeered about
neither. Most people have girls one time or another, an' I don't know of
nothin' that 'll make a boy or a young man go straighter than to know
that his girl's eyes air upon him. Don't be ashamed at all."

Fred still blushed, but he felt better, and his face lightened over the
kindly words.

"I did n't finish tellin' you, though, what I started on. I got to
thinkin' yesterday about my young days, when I had a