introduce you to this young lady, Miss Laura Morris. I want you to make
her a bow." He gave the colt some sign, and immediately he began to paw
the ground and shake his head.

Mr. Harry laughed and went on: "Here is her dog Joe. I want you to like
him, too. Come here, Joe." I was not at all afraid, for I knew Mr, Harry
would not let him hurt me, so I stood in front of him, and for the first
time had a good look at him. They called him the colt, but he was really
a full-grown horse, and had already been put to work. He was of a dark
chestnut color, and had a well-shaped body and a long, handsome head,
and I never saw, in the head of a man or beast, a more beautiful pair of
eyes than that colt had--large, full, brown eyes they were that he
turned on me almost as a person would. He looked me all over as if to
say: "Are you a good dog, and will you treat me kindly, or are you a bad
one like Bruno, and will you chase me and snap at my heels and worry me,
so that I shall want to kick you?"

I looked at him very earnestly and wagged my body, and lifted myself on
my hind legs toward him. He seemed pleased and put down his nose to
sniff at me, and then we were friends. Friends, and such good friends,
for next to Jim and Billy, I have loved Fleetfoot.

Mr. Harry pulled some lumps of sugar out of his pocket, and giving them
to Miss Laura, told her to put them on the palm of her hand and hold it
out flat toward Fleetfoot. The colt ate the sugar, and all the time eyed
her with his quiet, observing glance, that made her exclaim: "What a
wise-looking colt!"

"He is like an old horse," said Mr. Harry. "When he hears a sudden
noise, he stops and looks all about him to find an explanation."

"He has been well trained," said Miss Laura.

"I have brought him up carefully," said Mr. Harry. "Really, he has been
treated more like a dog than a colt. He follows me about the farm and
smells everything I handle, and seems to want to know the reason of
things.

"Your mother says," replied Miss Laura. "that she found you both asleep
on the lawn one day last summer, and the colt's head was on your arm."

Mr. Harry smiled and threw his arm over the colt's neck. "We've been
comrades, haven't we, Fleetfoot? I've been almost ashamed of his
devotion. He has followed me to the village, and he always wants to go
fishing with me. He's four years old now, so he ought to get over those
coltish ways. I've driven him a good deal. We're going out in th