ve such a lot of them."

"Tell me something of your home and home-life, dear. We are not very
well acquainted, you know, and that is a poor beginning."

It was a subject dear to Peggy's heart, and she needed no urging. Seated
beside Mrs. Vincent, for half an hour she talked of her life at
Severndale, Polly's interjections supplying little side-lights which
Mrs. Vincent was quick to appreciate, though Polly did not realize how
they emphasized Peggy's picture of her home.

"And you really raised those splendid horses yourself? I have never seen
their equal."

"But if you only knew how wonderfully intelligent they are, Mrs.
Vincent! Of course, Silver Star is now Polly's horse, but she has
learned to understand him so perfectly, and ride so beautifully, that he
loves her as well as he loves me and obeys her as well."

For a moment or two Mrs. Vincent's face wore an odd expression.

"Understand" a horse? To be "loved" by one? Did she "understand" those
in her stable? Did they "love" her? She almost smiled. It was such a new
viewpoint. Yet, why not? The animals upon her place were certainly
entirely dependent upon her for their happiness and comfort. But had she
ever given that fact a serious thought?

Slipping an arm about each girl as they sat beside her she asked:

"What do you think of our horses, and of Dawson? For a little
fifteen-year old lassie you seem to have had a remarkable experience."

Peggy colored, but Polly blurted out:

"I think he's a regular old hypocrite and so does Peggy. Why, Shelby
would have forty fits if any of our horses' feet were like
Jack-o'-Lantern's, or their bits as dirty as the Senator's."

"Oh, Polly, please don't!" begged Peggy. But it was too late. "What is
this?" asked Mrs. Vincent quickly.

"Well, I dare say I've made a mess of the whole thing. I generally do,
but Peggy and I do love animals so and hate to see them abused."

"Are _ours_ abused, Polly?"

"I don't suppose that generally speaking people would say they were.
Most everybody would say they were mighty well cared for, but that's
because people don't stop to think a thing about it. My goodness, _I_
didn't till Peggy made me. A horse was just a horse to me--any old
horse--if he could pull a wagon or hold somebody on his back. That he
could actually _talk_ to me never entered my head. Have you ever seen
one _do_ it?" asked Polly, full of eager enthusiasm.

"I can't say that I ever have," smiled Mrs. Vincent, and P