receding, you could hardly pass of a summer evening, without
noticing an old gray quietly feeding by the roadside, lazily brushing
off, with his long switch tail, the hungry flies that fastened on his
flanks. The landscape is nothing without the old horse. The deacon
reared him on the homestead. When a yearling he used to come regularly
to the back door and there receive crusts of bread, crumbs of cake,
and other delicacies, the free gifts of the children to their pet. He
was the most wonderful colt that ever was--as docile as the house dog.
When stray poultry trespassed on the grounds, he would lay his little
ears back, and putting his nose close to the ground, curling up his
lips and showing his white teeth, drive the marauders from the
premises with such a "scare," that they would refrain from their
incursions for a week to come. But he was incapable of injuring a
living thing.

When old enough for use, he submitted to the discipline of bit and
bridle without a single opposing effort. And what a fine figure he
made in harness! How smartly he trotted off to church carrying the
whole family behind him in a Dearborn wagon! How proud was his
carriage when he bore the deacon on his back!

The old man once made a long journey on horseback, to visit a brother
who lived in the northern part of New England. A great portion of the
way there was only a bridle path to follow through the woods, and this
was frequently obstructed by fallen trees. When the impediment was
merely a bare trunk, the gallant gray cleared it gayly at a flying
leap; when the tree was encumbered with branches, he clambered over
it like a wild cat. Once the deacon was obliged to dismount, and crawl
on his hands and knees through the dense branches; the sagacious horse
imitated his example, and worked his way through like a panther.

But age came upon the good gray. His sight began to fail--his knees to
falter. His teeth were entirely worn away.

After a bitter struggle the deacon concluded to replace him by a
younger horse. Life had become a burden to the old family servant, of
which it was a mercy to relieve him. Yet, even then, the deacon was
reluctant to give a positive order for his execution.

One day he called his eldest son to him.

"Abijah," said he, "I'm going over to W., to get that colt I was
speaking about. While I am gone I want you to _dispose_ of the poor
old gray. I shouldn't like to sell him to any body that would abuse
him."

He c