of the crossing, with his wooden leg. He had fastened the gate. Then he also turned, and called to the girls:

‘A masterful young jockey, that; ‘ll have his own road, if ever anybody would.’

‘Yes,’ cried Ursula, in her hot, overbearing voice. ‘Why couldn’t he take the horse away, till the trucks had gone by? He’s a fool, and a bully. Does he think it’s manly, to torture a horse? It’s a living thing, why should he bully it and torture it?’

There was a pause, then the gate-keeper shook his head, and replied:

‘Yes, it’s as nice a little mare as you could set eyes on — beautiful little thing, beautiful. Now you couldn’t see his father treat any animal like that —