nto tears, and
retiring, unable to witness the consummation of the sacrifice.

"Come, young Burtail," said Zebulon, addressing the colt. "It's time
you was sot to work. I don't know whether you ever had a collar over
your darned ewe-neck or not. I don't see how any thing short of a
crooked-neck squash could fit it; but I'll try mine on." And with
these words he harnessed up the colt, and leaving his old "hoss" with
the widow, drove on his way rejoicing.

About fifteen miles farther east, he stopped and put up at a tavern,
where he made an arrangement to leave the colt for a week, hiring the
landlord's horse to pursue his journey. He gave directions to have the
colt fed high in the interim, to have his tail nicked and put in
pulleys, his head checked up, and his coat carefully shaved according
to the new practice. A very astute hostler promised that every thing
should be done according to his directions, and to his perfect
satisfaction.

Accordingly, in a week's time, when Zebulon came back, he hardly knew
his bargain. The colt was fat as a hog. His sides shone like silver;
his mane was neatly trimmed; his tail was crimped, and rose and fell
in a graceful curve; and he carried his head as proudly as an Arabian.

With the metamorphosed animal in the fills, the agent drove back to
the Spread Eagle, and put up for the night. In the morning, he ordered
his team, and paid his bill. Major Spike, who was great on horses,
standing at the front door, was struck with the appearance of his
guest's "cattle."

"Been buying a new hoss?" said the major.

"Yes; I thought I'd try one, though I ain't a horse jockey," answered
the agent, making an excuse to examine the buckles of his harness.

"Don't want to sell him, do you?" said the major.

"Why, no, major, I reckon not. I expect he'll suit me fust rate. I'm
doin' pooty well, now, and can afford to hev' somethin' nice. I
calklate to keep him."

"I don't like his color," said the major.

"Well, I do," said Zebulon, getting into his wagon. "Good mornin',
major."

"Hold on," said the major. "I've got a hoss I want to show you. Jake,
bring out the bay, and let Mr. Smith have a squint at him."

The hostler brought out a square-built, chunky, bay horse, in fine
condition, and looking like a capital roadster.

"What do you think of _that_ hoss, Mr. Smith?" asked the major,
triumphantly.

"Pretty fair hoss," said the agent. "But I tell you I'm no judge of
horses; I ain't a ho