ld be likely to be
living in them. He whipped his horse, and whipped him, till every lash
made my heart ache, and if I had dared I would have bitten him severely.
Suddenly, there was a dull thud in the street. The horse had fallen
down. The driver ran to his head, but he was quite dead. "Thank God!"
said the poorly-dressed woman, bitterly; "one more out of this world of
misery." Then she turned and went down the street. I was glad for the
horse. He would never be frightened or miserable again, and I went
slowly on, thinking that death is the best thing that can happen to
tortured animals.

The Fairport hotel was built right in the centre of the town, and the
shops and houses crowded quite close about it. It was a high, brick
building, and it was called the Fairport House. As I was running along
the sidewalk, I heard some one speak to me, and looking up I saw Charlie
Montague. I had heard the Morrises say that his parents were staying at
the hotel for a few weeks, while their house was being repaired. He had
his Irish setter, Brisk, with him, and a handsome dog he was, as he
stood waving his silky tail in the sunlight. Charlie patted me, and then
he and his dog went into the hotel. I turned into the stable yard. It
was a small, choked-up place, and as I picked my way under the cabs and
wagons standing in the yard, I wondered why the hotel people didn't buy
some of the old houses near by, and tear them down, and make a stable
yard worthy of such a nice hotel. The hotel horses were just getting
rubbed down after their day's work, and others were coming in. The men
were talking and laughing, and there was no sign of strange animals, so
I went around to the back of the yard. Here they were, in an empty cow
stable, under a hay loft. There were two little ponies tied up in a
stall, two goats beyond them, and dogs and monkeys in strong traveling
cages. I stood in the doorway and stared at them. I was sorry for the
dogs to be shut up on such a lovely evening, but I suppose their master
was afraid of their getting lost, or being stolen, if he let them loose.

They all seemed very friendly. The ponies turned around and looked at me
with their gentle eyes, and then went on munching their hay. I wondered
very much where the gander was, and went a little farther into the
stable. Something white raised itself up out of the brownest pony's
crib, and there was the gander close up beside the open mouth of his
friend. The monkeys make a