As he entered the stall the young owner was on his knees in a corner, and before him was an open portmanteau from which he was taking something that made the old man's eyes glisten: an old jacket of faded orange-yellow silk, and a blue cap--the old Bullfield colors, that had once been known on every course in the country, and had often led the field. Robin gave an exclamation. “Le' me see dat thing!” He seized the jacket and held it up. “Lord, Lord! I 's glad to see it,” he said. “I ain' see it for so long. It 's like home. Whar did you git dis thing, son! I 'd jest like to see it once mo' come home leadin' de field.” “Well, you shall see it doing that to-morrow,” said the young fellow, boastfully, his face alight with pleasure. “I declar' I 'd gi' my watch to see it.” He stopped short as his hand went to his side where the big gold timepiece had so long reposed, and he took it away with a sudden sense of loss. This, however, was but for a second. In a moment the old trainer was back in the past, telling his young master of the glories of the old stable--what races it had run and what stakes it had won. The storm passed during the night, and the sun rose next morning clear and bright. One horse, at least, that was entered for the big race was well cared for. Robin had slept in his stall, and his young master had had his room. They had become great friends, and the young man had told the old trainer of his hopes. If he won he would have enough to send his sister off to school in the city, and he would go to college. Robin had entered into it heart and soul, and had given the boy all the advice he could hold. Robin was up by light, looking after the horse; and the young owner, after waiting long enough to take another lesson in the proper handling of a horse about to run, excused himself, and, leaving the horse with the old trainer, went out, he said, “to exercise for his wind.” This was a long walk; but the young rider's walk took him now, not along the track or the road, but along the steeplechase course, marked by the hurdles; and though the ground was wet and soggy on the flat, and in some places the water still stood, he appeared not to mind it in the least. So far from avoiding the pools, he plunged straight through them, walking backward and forward, testing the ground, and at every “jump” he made a particular examination. When he returned to the stable he was as wet as a “drowned rat,” but he looked well satisfied, and the old trainer, after he had talked with him a few minutes, was satisfied also. “Dat boy 's he gran'pa's gran'chile,” he muttered, well pleased with his account. III