uch. It had been shamefully trampled and
torn.

But Father Brighthopes laughed pleasantly, as they brought it back to
him.

"The shrewd dog!" said he; "as long as I kept at work, he was too
conscientious to touch my coat; but the moment I stopped to pick
berries, he thought he would teach me a lesson."

"I am sorry,--sorry!" exclaimed the mortified farmer.

"Oh, it is not a great loss! It will not ruin me. I think I shall
recover from the damage. Bad work he made with it, didn't he?" laughed
the old man, holding up the wreck of cloth. "It is fortunate I did not
wear my best coat out here. It isn't so bad as if I had not another to
my back. You have no more colts over in the cornfield, to take as good
care of my vest, I trust?"

As the men looked in the direction of the vest, they saw Mark Wheeler,
the jockey, coming towards them, across the lot. He was walking very
fast, and passion contracted his features.

"Mr. Royden," said he, with forced calmness, "are you pretty busy just
now?"

"You see I am holding my own with these hearty young men," replied the
farmer.

"I'll work for you enough to make up for lost time," said Mark, "if you
will go over and look at my new horse."

"What is the matter with him?"

"He has hurt his eye."

"Hurt his eye? How?" asked Mr. Royden.

"You will see; I can't stop to explain now," answered Mark, showing more
and more agitation. "If you can, I wish you would go right over now."

"Oh, well, I will," said Mr. Royden. "Let me carry my scythe to the
other end of the swath. Come, Father Brighthopes, would you like to take
a short walk?"

The old man, thinking he had exercised about enough for one forenoon,
willingly left the meadow in company with Mr. Royden, Chester and Mark
the jockey; having first, to the great amusement of the spectators, put
on the farmer's loose coat, to avoid getting cold in his aged bones.

XXI.

THE SWAMP-LOT.

"What is the matter with your colt's eye?" asked Chester, as they walked
amid the young corn.

"I am afraid it is spoilt," replied Mark, between his teeth.

"Spoilt! Not your new horse,--the splendid sorrel colt you got of Mr.
Skenitt?"

"Yes; the splendid sorrel colt; if 'twas either of the others, I
wouldn't care so much."

"How _did_ it happen?" cried Mr. Royden, deeply pained.

"By----"

The oath came out before Mark thought of it.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he added, with emotion, turning to the old
clergyman. "I'm