Long after the one-thirty special night train had whistled at the Downs crossing, a dark figure could be seen sliding along the stall doors--"Ten--Nine--; Eight--" Then it came to halt before Stall No. 7, and slipped through the door. It felt in the dark for the blanketed horse's neck. The horse jumped as a dagger-like needle was thrust into its neck. The colored boy, in a drugged sleep at the door of the stall, stirred in his dreams, but was still again. The door opened quietly, and the figure slipped out, leaving the horse in No. 7 leaning drunkenly against the side wall. A shaft of moonlight fell across the intruder's face, revealing the same man who had attended all of Dixie's trial gallops. Little did this unscrupulous person realize that the black mare was spending the night in an old deserted barn near the race track, guarded by an old gentleman whose mouth was twisted into a whimsical smile, while a "guaranteed-to-be-gentle" livery horse was leading a life of luxury that evening in Stall No. 7, Churchill Downs. Derby day at Churchill Downs! Kentucky was doing homage to the thoroughbred. As the band played "Dixie," the Derby entries filed through the paddock onto the field. Proudly leading the string of the country's best two year olds, was the song's namesake, a true daughter of the South. With arching neck and prancing feet, Dixie, the pride of an old man's heart, took her place at the barrier. Her jockey looked up as he passed an aristocratic old gentleman, dressed in a faded coat which reminded one of "befoah de Wah" days and whose hat remained off while the horses passed. The barrier was up, and the roar shook the grandstand. "They're off!!" The favorite, Vixen, shot ahead and seemed to be making a runaway race. Cheer after cheer rent the air. An old man clasped his program a little tighter and breathed a prayer. Around the turn came Vixen, but not alone. Crouched to the ground, a small black horse crept up to the flying tail of the favorite. Down the stretch the two thundered, fighting for supremacy. "Foah Kentucky, Dixie, and the honah of the purple and white!" As if she heard this plea from her master, Dixie bent lower. Then, her black nose thrust ahead, more than a length in advance of Vixen, she flashed under the wire, bringing "honah" to the purple and white. NANCY STEVENSON, '26. MY BUREAU DRAWERS My bureau drawers,--I wonder what their contents could tell! Whenever I go through them with the firm resolve to clear out everything that I do not actually use, I always end by saving some things just for the sake of the memories connected with them.