"Oh! and there was a King Hiram, of Tyre, too, wasn't there,"
cried Lettie, laughing. "You might be a king, you know."

"That seems to be an unprofitable trade now-a-days," returned the
young fellow, shaking his head. "I think I will be the namesake
of Hiram, the brass-smith, for it is said of him that he was
'filled with wisdom and understanding' and that is what I want to
be if I am going to run Mrs. Atterson's farm and make it pay."

"You're a funny boy," said the girl, eyeing him furiously.
"You're--you're not at all like Pete--or these other boys about
"You'Scoville.

"And that Pete Dickerson isn't any good at all! I shall tell
daddy all about how he touched up that horse and made him run.
Here he comes now!"

They had been walking steadily along the road toward the Atterson
house, and in the direction the runaway had taken. Pete
Dickerson appeared, riding one of the bays and leading the one
that had been frightened.

The latter was all of a lather, was blowing hard, and before the
horses reached them, Hiram saw that the runaway was in bad shape.

"Hold on!" he cried to the lout. "Breathe that horse a while.
Let him stand. He ought to be rubbed down, too. Don't you see
the shape he is in?"