the door to see us off.

"Dick!" said the farmer, in a peremptory voice, giving the rein a
quick jerk as he spoke.

But Dick moved not a step.

"Dick! you vagabond! get up." And the farmer's whip cracked sharply
by the pony's ear.

It availed not, however, this second appeal. Dick stood firmly
disobedient. Next the whip was brought down upon him, with an
impatient hand; but the pony only reared up a little. Fast and sharp
the strokes were next dealt to the number of a half-dozen. The man
might as well have beaten his wagon, for all his end was gained.

A stout lad now came out into the road, and catching Dick by the
bridle, jerked him forward, using, at the same time, the customary
language on such occasions, but Dick met this new ally with
increased stubbornness, planting his forefeet more firmly, and at a
sharper angle with the ground. The impatient boy now struck the pony
on the side of his head with his clenched hand, and jerked cruelly
at his bridle. It availed nothing, however; Dick was not to be
wrought upon by any such arguments.

"Don't do so, John!" I turned my head as the maiden's sweet voice
reached my ear. She was passing through the gate into the road, and,
in the next moment, had taken hold of the lad and drawn him away
from the animal. No strength was exerted in this; she took hold of
his arm, and he obeyed her wish as readily as if he had no thought
beyond her gratification.

And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony's neck, and a
single low word spoken. How instantly were the tense muscles
relaxed--how quickly the stubborn air vanished.

"Poor Dick!" said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly, or
softly patted it with a child-like hand.

"Now, go along, you provoking fellow!" she added, in a half-chiding,
yet affectionate voice, as she drew upon the bridle. The pony turned
toward her, and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant or
two; then, pricking up his ears, he started off at a light, cheerful
trot, and went on his way as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever
entered his stubborn brain.

"What a wonderful power that hand possesses!" said I, speaking to my
companion, as we rode away.

He looked at me for a moment as if my remark had occasioned
surprise. Then a light came into his countenance, and he said,
briefly--

"She's good! Everybody and every thing loves her."

Was that, indeed, the secret of her power? Was the quality of her
soul perceived in the i