en at work on that bun.

That had been a troubled morning for Hannibal. Before he had finished
his breakfast a party of men rode by the house, and one of them was
playing on a bugle. He had set Hannibal's mind at work upon army matters
and war; so when Barry and Prue came to see him, he would not even
nibble. He smelled of the apple, and he looked at the bun, but that was
all.

"He's getting old," said Barry.

"And fat," added Prue.

"Tell you what, Prue, let's take him out into the lot. I know mother'd
let us."

That was likely, for Mrs. Dunway always felt safer about them if Nibble
were keeping them company.

"I'll get on his back."

"And I'll lead him. Wait till I fix the halter."

Prue climbed up on the side of the stall where Nibble was, and he stood
perfectly still while she clambered over to her place on his back.

Barry knew exactly what to do, and the old war-horse began to think he
did himself. He must have been thinking, for he half closed one eye as
he was walking out, and opened the other very wide, with a wonderfully
knowing look.

He was looking down the lane, and he saw that the front gate was open,
and just at that moment there came up the road, very faint and sweet,
the music of the cavalry bugle.

"Nibble! Nibble!" exclaimed Barry, "where are you going?"

Hannibal did not answer a word, but walked on down the lane very fast
indeed, and Barry lost hold of the halter.

As for Prue, she was not scared a particle, for she had ridden in that
way many a time, and her confidence in herself and old Nibble was
unbounded.

"Cluck, cluck, cluck--get-ap."

"Stop, Prue, stop. He's going faster."

"Get-ap! Come, Barry. Oh, there's mother at the window!"

[Illustration: THE "THREE CHILDREN."--DRAWN BY KELLY.]

Mrs. Dunway was not frightened any more than Prue, for she said to
herself, "Too old, indeed! Well, they're more like three children, when
they're together, than anything else. I'm glad he is fat. He won't go
too fast for Prue."

He was in the road now, and he seemed disposed to keep Barry from again
getting hold of that halter.

"Oh dear," said Barry, "the parade-ground's down there."

Hannibal knew that, by the music, and he was almost trotting now.

In fact, he was looking younger and younger, somehow, every minute, and
Barry felt more and more as if he ought to have hold of the halter,
instead of merely running along-side and shouting to Prue.

The regiment was drawn up on th