rse and cart,
which had come to a standstill only a few feet in front of them. The
cart was loaded with boxes and packages, and the horse, which was a mere
skeleton, and looked as if his working days had long been over, had
evidently completely given out. The driver, a boy of sixteen or
seventeen, had sprung down from his seat, and was endeavoring to
discover the cause of the trouble.

"Oh, look, Hortense," cried Marjorie, her quick sympathies instantly
aroused, "look at that poor horse. He isn't strong enough to drag that
heavy wagon, with all those boxes in it. Oh, what a shame! That boy
mustn't beat him so--he mustn't!" And before the horrified maid could
interpose, impulsive Marjorie had sprung forward to remonstrate.

"Stop beating that horse," she commanded, with flashing eyes; "can't you
see he isn't able to go any farther with that load? You ought to be
ashamed to load a poor creature like that in such a way!"

The boy stared at her for a moment in stupid amazement; then an ugly
look came into his face. He gave one quick glance up and down the
street, to make sure there was no policeman in sight; and turned on
Marjorie with rough fury.

"You leave me alone, will you? It ain't none of your biz what I do with
this here horse." And before the indignant Marjorie could protest he had
again laid the whip lash, sharply across the poor animal's back.

Then for one moment Marjorie forgot everything--forgot that she was in
the streets of a big city--forgot all Aunt Julia's lectures and Elsie's
warnings--and with one quick movement she seized the whip handle, trying
with all her strength to drag it away from the boy. She was strong, but
her antagonist was stronger, and the end of that momentary struggle was
a sharp cry of pain from Marjorie, a muttered imprecation from the
driver, and in another second he had sprung into his seat, and horse and
wagon were clattering away down the street.

"Oh, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle," gasped Hortense, seizing Marjorie's
arm, and fairly trembling with fright and horror; "how could you do such
a terrible thing? A young lady to fight with a _canaille_! Oh, what will
Madame say when she hears?"

[Illustration: WITH ONE QUICK MOVEMENT SHE SEIZED THE WHIP
HANDLE.--_Page 145._]

"He is a wicked, cruel boy," panted Marjorie; "he ought to be arrested.
He is killing that poor old horse."

"Yes, I know, he is cruel, a beast, but young ladies must not interfere
with such things. You mig