The boy was barefooted; his clothes had seen long service; likewise his hat, for a rent in the crown afforded so free a circulation of air that there was no danger of his ever becoming bald for lack of it. Evidently he was no stranger, for the instant Gray Lady heard his whistle she raised her head, the sleepy look giving place to a very alert one, as she began to whinny softly. When he came within sight of her he shouted: “Hi! old Lady, be you a-lookin’ for me? Reckon I’m on time, though; train haint gone down yit, an’ yer can’t never expect me afore that, yer know.” As he talked he lifted a small basket of apples from the wagon. Lady snorted and whinnied, and, the sound reaching her fly-away son, he stopped short in his wild career. Without turning, he glanced over his shoulder and gave a funny little imitation of his mother’s greeting. “You come along back here. I aint a-gonter come tramplin’ clear off there after you, and don’t you think it,” called the boy. “Sonny” gave an independent little toss of his head as though to say: “I’m not _forced_ to come, but I will, since it is you,” and then started across the field; his funny, long legs flying about in the most aimless manner. “Now old Lady, I’ll give you your spread first, ’cause you was on hand ter say ‘howdy,’ you know”; and, taking up his basket, he began to feed one apple at a time to his four-footed friend. This was too much for Sonny, who had got scent of the fruit and was determined to have his share. The dainty muzzle was thrust over the boy’s shoulder as he stood feeding Lady; then it was poked into his hands and rubbed against his coat, and, as a last resort, when all these hints proved futile, a very vigorous nip was given to his arm. “Hi, you young scamp! What are you up to? Is thet the way you mean to treat me after I lugged all these apples over here? Now just you hold on; you didn’t care a cent about me till you found out I had somethin’, did you? That’s just like some folks; they aint got no use fer a feller except ter knock him ’round till they git a notion he’s wuth somethin’ to them, and then--oh, my! _aint_ they sweet? Reckon I’ve learned somethin’ o’ _that_ game. Now don’t you try it on, fer you an’ yer ma is all the friends I got, and if _you_ go back on me I’ll plumb give out. So come on and let’s be friends.” After this bit of moralizing he put his arms about the warm little neck and he and Sonny “made love” in the most approved style. While the three cronies were indulging in this bit of equine and human sentiment a shrill whistle announced the approach of the down train.