invigorating the pure, cool air; how pleasant the noise of the chatting
and joking going on around him; how bright and sweet the boys and girls
looked, with their rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes; how the old parson's
heart thrilled as they crowded around him when he would go, and urged
him to stay; and how little Alice Dorchester begged him, with her little
arms around his neck, to "jes stay and gib me one more slide."

[Illustration: "_Little Alice Dorchester begged him to stay._"]

"You never made such a pastoral call as that, parson," said the deacon,
as they drove away amid the cheers of the boys and the good-byes of the
girls, while the former fired off a volley of snowballs in his honor and
the latter waved their muffs and handkerchiefs after them.

"God bless them! God bless them!" said the parson. "They have lifted a
great load from my heart and taught me the sweetness of life, of youth
and the wisdom of Him who took the little ones in His arms and blessed
them. Ah, deacon," he added, "I've been a great fool, but I'll be so,
thank God, no more."


III

Now, old Jack was a horse of a great deal of character, and had a great
history, but of this none in that section, save the little deacon, knew
a word. Dick Tubman, the deacon's youngest, wildest, and, I might add,
favorite son, had purchased him of an impecunious jockey at the close of
a, to him, disastrous campaign, that cleaned him completely out and left
him in a strange city, a thousand miles from home, with nothing but the
horse, harness and sulky, and a list of unpaid bills that must be met