all his new things; and he used to learn
his lessons sitting on my back. When he had a piece of cake he used to
push a bit in through the hole in my neck, and rock me to make it drop
into my stomach."

"Oh! then the hole has been there a long time."

"Yes; Robbie made it to feed me through; those other boys only put
buttons and marbles in, and old nails. Robbie always gave me a bit of
cake with the biggest plum in it. When he was ill he asked for me, and
the mother had me put by the bedside, and I watched him night and day.
His little hand grew so thin and pale, and he used to slip it out from
under the quilt to stroke me."

"There! your tail's in now," cried Basil. "So now I will see if I can
get the stirrup off the drawer; then I'll sponge you a bit."

"If you could only make me look nice they would send me back for
Robbie's boy, and I should see Robbie again before I die. You are a
kind little boy, and Robbie will love you."

"Tell me some more. You look ever so much better already," said Basil,
tugging away at the stirrup. "And I dare say when you get back to
Robbie he will have you painted up, and then you will feel just like
you used to feel."

"Yes," said the old horse; "he will have me done up like new, and he
will tell his little boy to love me for his sake, and all my happy days
will begin again. Often at night I have listened to the wind roaring
in the chimney and have shivered with cold, and have thought how Robbie
would have put a rug over me if he were here."

Just then the gong sounded for luncheon. "I must go now," said Basil,
"but I will come up again and finish you."

* * * * * *

"Auntie," Basil began, when he was seated at the table, "I have been
mending up the old rocking-horse; won't you send it to Uncle Robbie's
boy?"

Basil was too wise to repeat all the old horse had told him, for he
knew that grown-up people never understand that toys talk to the
children.

"Yes, I think I will," auntie replied.

* * * * * *

The gas was lit in the entrance-hall of a big house in a country town.
A little white-frocked child raced to the door to meet a tall, handsome
man who had just entered.

"Papa! papa! the old wocking-horse is tum--it was youse when you was
ickle boy; tum and see it."

The father perched his little son on his shoulder and mounted the
stairs to the nursery, where the firelight danced on the walls.

T