“Lor’ bless you, mas’r, it’s done snow higher than Rocket’s head. He’ll never stand it nohow.” “Do as I bid you,” was Hugh’s reply, and indolent Claib went shivering to the stable where Hugh’s best horses were kept. A whinnying sound of welcome greeted him as he entered, but was soon succeeded by a spirited snort as he attempted to lead out a most beautiful dapple gray, Hugh’s favorite steed, his pet of pets, and the horse most admired and coveted in all the country. “None of yer _ars_,” Claib said coaxingly, as the animal threw up his neck defiantly, “You’ve got to get along ’case Mas’r Hugh say so. You know Mas’r Hugh.” As if he really knew and understood, the proud head came down at once, and Rocket suffered himself to be led from the stall, but when the keen north wind struck full upon his face, the gleaming eyes flashed with stubborn fire, and planting his feet firmly in the snow, Rocket resisted all Claib’s efforts to get him any further. Scolding did no good, coax him he could not, strike him he dared not, and alternately changing the halter from hand to hand poor Claib blew his stiffened fingers and called lustily for help. “What is it?” Hugh asked, coming out upon the stoop, and comprehending the trouble at a glance. “Rocket Rocket,” he cried, “Easy, my boy,” and in an instant Rocket’s defiant attitude changed to one of perfect obedience. He knew and loved the voice calling so cheerily to him, and with a sudden plunge, which wrenched his halter from Claib’s grasp and sent the poor negro headlong into the snow, he bounded to his master’s side. Rubbing his head against Hugh’s shoulder, he suffered himself to be caressed for a moment, and then, playful as a kitten, gambolled around him in circles, sometimes making a feint of coming near to him, and again leaping backward with the peculiarly graceful motion for which he was so famous. How Hugh loved that noble animal, and how Rocket loved him, licking his hands whenever he entered the stable, and crying piteously after him when he left. Five hundred dollars had been offered him for that horse, but though wanting money sadly, he had promptly refused the offer, determined that Rocket should know no master save himself. “There, my beauty,” he said, as the animal continued to prance around him. “There, you’ve showed off enough. Come, now, I’ve work for you to do.” Docile as a lamb when Hugh commanded, he stood quietly while Claib equipped him for his morning’s task. “Tell mother I shan’t be back to breakfast,” Hugh said, as he sprang into the saddle, and giving loose rein to Rocket went galloping through the snow.