I called the little girl’s attention to the big eyes looking at her so steadfastly, and, do you know, I believe she understood their language even better than I did, and yet I flatter myself that I am a pretty good interpreter of such glances. At any rate, she walked straight up to their owner and said: “Why do you look at me that-a-way? I just guess you _know_ I keep lumps of sugar in my pocket to give to great, big lovely horses like you!” Slowly a great white head with the most intelligent eyes I have ever seen was lowered to a level with the little maid’s face, and two or three queer, sidling steps taken to bring it closer to the outstretched arms. The owner seemed to realize that those little arms never gave any save the tenderest caresses, and he was very glad to feel one circle around his huge, soft neck, while the other carried a small hand to stroke a very silky muzzle, for Big Jack is a horse among horses. And big, indeed, he is--a giant of his kind. There is nothing small about Jack either in his makeup or his manners. His head is massive, but magnificently formed, with thin, sensitive nostrils, wide-awake eyes placed widely apart, small, alert ears which point forward, or occasionally one is turned back as though to listen round the corner for the sound of a familiar voice, or a kindly word from his driver, who is justly proud of the big white creature. And such a neck! I would not dare venture a guess as to the size of collar Jack wears, for the great neck arches up to a crest that is truly noble. But his eyes tell more of his noble nature than all the rest of the head together; they are so big, so soft, so brown, and so eloquent. With them he talks to you, expressing by them love, kindness, expectancy, joy, and--sometimes--make-believe anger, for Jack is rarely angry in earnest. But he resents the slightest approach to teasing by flashing his big eyes at his tormentor, and after they have seen the sharp eyes turned so keenly on them, not many have the hardihood to push matters too far. Big Jack has hosts of friends, who always have a kind word for him, and a day rarely passes without someone bringing him a dainty of some sort. His driver carries him an apple every morning when he goes to the stable to take him out for his day’s work, and Jack knows exactly the hour to expect him, and the instant his footfall is heard, greets him with a loud whinny. After Jack has enjoyed his apple, his master lets him out of his stall, and that is Jack’s opportunity for a frolic. He prances about like a young colt until told to “go along and get his drink,” when he at once marches off to the water-trough and proceeds to drink up a few gallons. A good breakfast follows, and then he puts himself in position to be harnessed, gets into his shafts, and is ready for business. He knows exactly what is expected of him, and trots straight to the express office at Twenty-second Street and Broadway.