he minister's devices,
grew so familiar with their appearance, that he took an early
opportunity of making their closer acquaintance, and mouthed the
parson's ruffled shirt, and took a bite of the Widow Goslee's dimity
short-gown.

"And so the kindly work went on. Peter gained trust and confidence every
day, learning little by little that his master was his friend, that
under his guidance no harm came to him, no impossible task was given to
him; until at length confidence cast out fear, and the white horse
became as docile and obedient as he had always been willing and strong.

"These qualities, on one occasion, stood him in good stead; for the
parsonage barn and stable one night burned to the ground. Peter's stall
was bright with the red light of the fire, and the flames crackled
overhead in the barn-loft when the parson led out his favorite,
trembling in every limb, his eyes wild with terror, but perfectly
obedient to his master's hand. It was as if he had said: 'I must go,
even through this dreadful fire, if master leads the way.'

"There was a Fourth of July celebration in the next parish, and Parson
Lorrimer was invited to deliver the oration. He rode over on horseback,
took the saddle from Peter's back, and turned him loose in a pasture
where other of the guests' horses were grazing. A platform was erected
on the green, with seats for the band, the invited guests, and the
speaker of the day; while the people gathered from both parishes were
standing about in groups waiting for the exercises to commence. Flags
were flying, bells ringing, and a field-piece, that had seen service in
the War of the Revolution, at intervals belched out a salute in honor of
the day. The band was playing a lively tune, when suddenly there was a
stir and a dividing to the right and left of the crowd gathered about
the stand, and through the lane thus formed came the minister's white
horse.

"He trotted leisurely up, stopped before the platform, and made a bow,
then began to dance, keeping time to the music, and going round and
round in a space quickly cleared for him by the lookers-on. I don't know
whether it was a waltz the band was playing, or if horses were taught to
waltz so long ago; but whatever kind of dance it was,--gallopade,
quickstep, or cotillion,--Peter, in his horse-fashion, danced it well.
Faster and faster played the music, and round and round went the pony.
The people laughed and shouted, and Peter made his farewell b