d we'll go together and
have it over with."

"All right; I'll come," said Roy.

They found Miss Ruth alone, for it was Thursday night and the minister's
family were at the prayer-meeting. The September evening was chilly, and
she was sitting before an open fire.

"You do the talking," Roy whispered at the door, and accordingly Sammy,
after fidgeting in his seat a little, opened the subject.

"Roy wants me to ask you," he began, and then stopped at a punch in the
side from Roy's knuckles, and began again: "Me and Roy would like--if it
wouldn't be too much trouble, and you'd just as soon as not--to have you
tell us a horse story next time." Then in a loud whisper aside to Roy:
"You _did_ ask me! You know you did."

"Well, you needn't put it all on me, if I did," Roy answered, in the
same tone.

Miss Ruth appeared not to notice this by-play.

"A horse story," she said pleasantly; "yes, why not?"

"You see," Sammy continued, "we like to hear about cats well enough, and
that ant battle was first-rate--I'd like to have seen it, I know; but
Roy, he says the girls might be writin' notes askin' you to tell more
cat stories and--and--well"--

"Yes, I see," she said; "too much of a good thing. Well, I will tell no
more cat stories, and it shall be all horse next Wednesday. Will that
suit you, Sammy? And Roy, do you like horses very much?"

"Yes, 'm," said Roy, bashfully.

"He says," said Sammy, rather enjoying the office of spokesman, "when he
grows up he means to have a fast trotter. I'd like to own a good horse
myself," continued Sam.

"I know a boy about your age," said Miss Ruth, "whose father gave him,
for a birthday present, a Canadian pony; a funny looking little beast,
not much larger than a big dog, but strong enough to carry double
Herbert's weight."

"Like the Shetland ponies at the show?"

"Yes; but larger, and not so costly. He is a thick-set, shaggy fellow,
always looking as if he were not half-groomed, with his coat all rough
and tumbled, his legs covered with thick hair, his mane hanging on both
sides of his neck, and his forelock always getting into his bright
little eyes."

"What color?" said Roy.

"Dark brown; not handsome, but so affectionate and intelligent that you
would love him dearly. He is as frolicsome as a kitten, and I laughed
and laughed again to see him racing round the yard, hardly able to see
for the shag of hair tumbling over his eyes, playing queer tricks and
making uncouth