t something is the matter with my
ears." He and the Dappled Gray had been doing field-work all the
morning, and were now eating a hearty dinner in their stalls. They were
the only people on the first floor of the barn. Even the stray Doves who
had wandered in the open door were out in the sunshine once more. Once
in a while the whirr of wings told that some Swallow darted through the
window into the loft above and flew to her nest under the roof. There
was a deep and restful quiet in the sun-warmed air, and yet the Blind
Horse had seemed to be listening to something which the other did not
hear.

The Dappled Gray stopped eating at once. "Your ears?" said he. "What is
wrong with them? I thought your hearing was very good."

"It always has been," was the answer, "and finer than ever since I lost
my sight. You know it is always so with us blind people. We learn to
hear better than we could before losing our sight. But ever since we
came in from the field I have had a queer sound in my ears, and I think
there is something the matter with them."

The Dappled Gray stopped eating and stood perfectly still to listen. He
did not even switch his tail, although at that minute there were three
Flies on his left side and one on his neck. He was trying as hard as he
could to hear the queer sound also, for if he did, it would prove that
the noise was real and that the Blind Horse's hearing was all right.

He could not hear a thing. "What is it like?" he asked.

"Like the loud purring of a Cat," was the answer, "but everybody knows
that the Cat is not purring anywhere around here."

"She might be," said the Dappled Gray. "Where does the sound seem to
be?"

"Above my head," said the Blind Horse; "and she certainly would not be
purring up there at this time. She would either be sound asleep, or off
hunting, or else out in the sunshine, where she loves to sit."

The Dappled Gray felt that this was so, and he could not say a word. He
was very sorry for his friend. He thought how dreadful it would seem to
be both blind and deaf, and he choked on the oats he was swallowing.

"Now don't worry," said the Blind Horse; "if I should be deaf, I could
still feel the soft touch of the breeze on my skin, and could taste my
good food, and rub noses with my friends. I wouldn't have spoken of it,
only I hoped that you could hear the noise also, and then I would know
that it was real." That was just like him. He was always patient and
sweet-tem