prayer,'" presently continued the
other, turning reflective eyes toward the flickering coals. "'Feed me,
water me, care for me, and, when the--the day's work is done, provide me
with shelter and a clean, dry bed, and, when you can, a stall wide
enough for me to lie down in in comfort. Always be kind to me. Talk to
me--your voice often means as much to me as the reins. Pet me sometimes,
that I may serve you the more gladly and know that my services are
appreciated, and that I may learn to love you. Do not jerk the reins,
and do not whip me when going up-hill. And when I don't understand you,
what you want, do not strike or beat or kick me, but give me a chance to
understand you. And if I continue to fail to understand, see if
something is not wrong with my harness or feet.'"

The Professor's blanket stirred. "Go on!" he yelled. "Sounds all right.
Go ahead! Is that all?"

"I disremember the rest," replied the other. "Let's see!" He was silent.
"No," he finally blurted out, "I can't get it. It says something about
overloading, and a-hitching where water don't drop on him, and--Oh yes!
'I can't tell you when I'm thirsty,' it goes on, 'so give me cool, clean
water often. Never put a frosty bit in my mouth; first warm it by
holdin' it a moment in your hands. And, remember, I try to carry you and
your burdens without a murmur, and I wait patiently for you long hours
of the day and night. Without power to choose my shoes or path, I
sometimes stumble and fall, but I stand always in readiness at any
moment to lose my life in your service. And this is important, and,
finally, O my master! when my useful strength is gone do not turn me out
to starve, or sell me to some cruel owner to be slowly tortured and
starved to death; but do thou, my master, take my life in the kindest
way, and your God will reward you here and hereafter. You will not
consider me irreverent, I know, if I ask all this in the name of Him Who
was born in a stable.'"

The Professor's blanket stirred again. "Go on," he demanded in muffled
tones. "Is that all?"

The lean man slipped off his second boot. "No," he replied, quietly,
"that ain't all."

"Well, go ahead. It's good. That horse must 'a' been a city horse; but
go on!"

"Only one more word, anyway," was the rejoinder. He was still holding
his boot.

"What is it?"

"Why"--the voice was solemn--"it's 'Amen.'"

"Aw, shucks!" came from the depths of the blanket.

The lean man turned his head. "Say,