l ask him
just as soon as I get to Lewisburg."

Ralph lifted the trembling form into his arms, and the little fellow
only looked up in the face of the master and said: "You see, Mr.
Hartsook, I thought God had forgot. But he ha'n't."

And the words of the little boy comforted the master also. God had not
forgotten him, either!

From the moment that Ralph took Shocky into his arms, the conduct of the
roan colt underwent an entire revolution. Before that he had gone over a
bad place with a rush, as though he were ambitious of distinguishing
himself by his brilliant execution. Now he trod none the less surely,
but he trod tenderly. The neck was no longer arched. He set himself to
his work as steadily as though he were twenty years old. For miles he
traveled on in a long, swinging walk, putting his feet down carefully
and firmly. And Ralph found the spirit of the colt entering into
himself. He cut the snow-storm with his face, and felt a sense of
triumph over all his difficulties. The bulldog's jaws had been his
teacher, and now the steady, strong, and conscientious legs of the roan
inspired him.

Shocky had not spoken. He lay listening to the pattering music of the
horse's feet, doubtless framing the footsteps of the roan colt into an
anthem of praise to the God who had not forgot. But as the dawn came on,
making the snow whiter, he raised himself and said half-aloud, as he
watched the flakes chasing one another in whirling eddies, that the snow
seemed to be having a good time of it. Then he leaned down again on the
master's bosom, full of a still joy, and only roused himself from his
happy reverie to ask what that big, ugly-looking house was.

"See, Mr. Hartsook, how big it is, and how little and ugly the windows
is! And the boards is peeling off all over it, and the hogs is right in
the front yard. It don't look just like a house. It looks dreadful. What
is it?"

Ralph had dreaded this question. He did not answer it, but asked Shocky
to change his position a little, and then he quickened the pace of the
horse. But Shocky was a poet, and a poet understands silence more
quickly than he does speech. The little fellow shivered as the truth
came to him.

"Is that the poor-house?" he said, catching his breath. "Is my mother in
that place? _Won't_ you take me in there, so as I can just kiss her
once? 'Cause she can't see much, you know. And one kiss from me will
make her feel so good. And I'll tell her that God ha'n't