Wool, go down to the stables and tell every man there that if either of
them allows a horse to be brought out for the use of Miss Black to-day.
I'll flay them alive and break every bone in their skins. Away with
you."

"Yes, sir," cried the shocked and terrified Wool, hurrying off to convey
his panic to the stables.

Old Hurricane's carriage being ready, he entered it and drove off for
the fair.

Next the house servants, with the exception of Pitapat, who was
commanded to remain behind and wait upon her mistress, went off in a
wagon.

When they were all gone, Capitola dressed herself in her riding-habit
and sent Pitapat down to the stables to order one of the grooms to
saddle Gyp and bring him up for her.

Now, when the little maid delivered this message, the unfortunate grooms
were filled with dismay--they feared their tyrannical little mistress
almost as much as their despotic old master, who, in the next change of
his capricious temper, might punch all their heads for crossing the will
of his favorite, even though in doing so they had followed his
directions. An immediate private consultation was the consequence, and
the result was that the head groom came to Pitapat, told her that he was
sorry, but that Miss Black's pony had fallen lame.

The little maid went back with the answer.

When she was gone the head groom, calling to his fellows, said:

"That young gal ain't a-gwine to be fooled either by ole marse or we.
She'll be down here herself nex' minute and have the horse walked out.
Now we must make him lame a little. Light a match here, Jem, and I'll
burn his foot."

This was immediately done. And, sure enough, while poor Gyp was still
smarting with his burn, Capitola came, holding up her riding train and
hurrying to the scene, and asking indignantly:

"Who dares to say that my horse is lame? Bring him out here this
instant, that I may see him!"

The groom immediately took poor Gyp and led him limping to the presence
of his mistress.

At the sight Capitola was almost ready to cry with grief and
indignation.

"He was not lame last evening. It must have been your carelessness, you
good-for-nothing loungers; and if he is not well enough to take me to
the fair to-morrow, at least, I'll have the whole set of you lamed for
life!" she exclaimed, angrily, as she turned off and went up to the
house--not caring so much, after all, for her own personal
disappointment as for Old Hurricane's triumph.

Cap's