own at his feet. Then he dropped on
the ill-smelling ground and went to sleep to dream that he had been
turned into a forty-acre field of clover, while a dozen brass bands
played a waltz and multitudes of people looked on and cheered.

In the morning more salt hay was thrown to him and water was brought in
a dirty pail. Then, without a stroke of brush or curry-comb he was led
out. When he saw the wagon to which he was to be hitched Skipper hung
his head. He had reached the bottom. It was unpainted and rickety as to
body and frame, the wheels were unmated and dished, while the shafts
were spliced and wound with wire.

But worst of all was the string of bells suspended from two uprights
above the seat. When Skipper saw these he knew he had fallen low indeed.
He had become the horse of a wandering junkman. The next step in his
career, as he well knew, would be the glue factory and the boneyard.
Now when a horse has lived for twenty years or so, it is sad enough to
face these things. But at eight years to see the glue factory close at
hand is enough to make a horse wish he had never been foaled.

For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart, with its hateful
jangle of bells, about the city streets and suburban roads while the man
with the faded hair roared through his matted beard: "Buy o-o-o-o-olt
ra-a-a-a-ags! Buy o-o-o-o-olt ra-a-a-a-ags! Olt boddles! Olt copper! Olt
iron! Vaste baber!"

[Illustration: For many weary months Skipper pulled that crazy cart.]

The lump on Skipper's hock kept growing bigger and bigger. It seemed as
if the darts of pain shot from hoof to flank with every step. Big
hollows came over his eyes. You could see his ribs as plainly as the
hoops on a pork-barrel. Yet six days in the week he went on long trips
and brought back heavy loads of junk. On Sunday he hauled the junkman
and his family about the city.

Once the junkman tried to drive Skipper into one of the Park entrances.
Then for the first time in his life Skipper balked. The junkman pounded
and used such language as you might expect from a junkman, but all to no
use. Skipper took the beating with lowered head, but go through the gate
he would not. So the junkman gave it up, although he seemed very
anxious to join the line of gay carriages which were rolling in.

Soon after this there came a break in the daily routine. One morning
Skipper was not led out as usual. In fact, no one came near him, and he
could hear no voices in t