he Sergeant's trenchantly humorous common
sense with the Corporal's mellow philosophy. But mostly it was the
Corporal that spoke, for twenty-four hours is a fair working day for a
Sergeant as well as a Troop horse.

"I believe in my soul," said the Sergeant, "that if a man rode into
this stable with his two arms shot off at the shoulder, you'd make him
groom his horse with his teeth and his toes for a couple of hours
before you'd let him hunt a doctor."

"Well," rejoined Corporal Richardson, in his soft Southern tongue, "and
what if I did? Even if that man died of it, he'd thank me heartily
afterward. You know, when you and I and the rest of the world, each in
our turn, come to Heaven's gate, there'll be St. Peter before it, with
the keys safe in his pocket. And over the shining wall behind--_from
the inside_, mind you--will be poking a great lot of heads--innocent
heads with innocent eyes--heads of horses and of all the other animals
that on this earth are the friends of man, put at his mercy and
helpless.

"And it's clear to me--over, John! so, boy!--that before St. Peter
unlocks the gate for a single one of us, he'll turn around to that long
row of heads, and he'll say:--

"'Blessed animals in the fields of Paradise, is this a man that should
enter in?'

"And if the animals--they that were placed in his hands on earth to
prove the heart that was in him--if the immortal animals have aught to
say against that man--never will the good Saint let him in, with his
dirty, mean stain upon him. Never. _You'll_ see, Sergeant, when your
time comes. _Will you give those tendons another ten minutes?_"

Next morning John G. walked out of his stall as fresh and as fit as if
he had come from pasture. And to this very day, in the stable of "A"
Troop, John G., handsome, happy, and able, does his friends honor.

MYRA KELLY

Friends[B] [77-1]

"My mamma," reported Morris Mowgelewsky, choosing a quiet moment during
a writing period to engage his teacher's attention, "my mamma likes you
shall come on mine house for see her."

[B] From _Little Aliens_, copyright, 1910, by Charles Scribner's
Sons. By permission of the publishers.

"Very well, dear," answered Miss Bailey with a patience born of many
such messages from the parents of her small charges. "I think I shall
have time to go this afternoon."

"My mamma," Morris began again, "she says I shall tell you 'scuse how
she don't send you no letter. She co