"No, your father was not particularly interested in horses. He was in
too poor health to be able to handle them after he reached a position
where he might have afforded such a luxury."

Tad nodded reflectively.

"And you still want a pony, do you, my son?" asked Mrs. Butler,
leaning forward with a twinkle in her eyes. But the boy's gaze was
fixed steadily on his plate and he failed to note the expression.

"Yes, I do, mother. However, I don't allow myself to think much about
it. I have got to take care of you, first. After I have made enough so
that you can get along, then I shall have a horse. But not until
then."

"Perhaps you may have one sooner than you know," breathed the mother,
veiling her eyes with her hands, that he might not read what was
plainly written there.

Tad shot a keen glance at her, then resumed his supper in silence.

The subject was not again referred to between them, and on Monday
afternoon Tad Butler was again at the grocery store, prepared for work
should there be any for him.

Mr. Langdon, the proprietor, was talking with one of the men from his
farm just outside the village.

"You say the old mare is unfit for further service, Jim?"