Missy noticed nothing, not even the howls of the children in the street. In the Park she did not rein me to drink at the stone troughs along the bridle-path, or to crop. But there was one thing that, more than anything else, took the spirit out of me. Going south beside the East Drive, I saw ahead of us--Thunderbolt coming! Instantly, I neighed. Missy looked up, and then, as quick as she could, whirled me and started back, circling the reservoir the other way. So I did not have a chance to see my friend, or Mr. England. I went into the stable with my head hanging. Things went along that way for a week. Meanwhile, I was not so well as usual. I caught a cold, for the stalls were hot and the air in the street chilled me to the bones. And I coughed, and my throat got so sore that I quidded my feed and splashed the water instead of drinking. I think Missy saw how it was. For one day, as we were going along, I felt a drop of water fall upon my withers--then another, and another. The sun was shining, there were no clouds. I turned my head a little. It was Missy--in tears! I was so unhappy that I snapped at the next horse that went by. But that morning ended happily, at least for me. Rounding a bend, we came close to a drive. And there was Thunderbolt and his master. I was so excited that I interfered. They seemed as pleased as I at the meeting. But--Missy did not. Missy was nervous--she telegraphed that down the reins. “Miss Sanborn,” said Mr. England, half as if he were going to scold, “you’ve been neglecting to ride lately.” “Oh, no,” declared Missy; “I ride. But possibly not so long as usual. You see, I’m--I’m very busy.” “Doubling your painting lessons?” “No--n--no.” “Ah,” said Mr. England, watching her narrowly, I thought. That was _all_ he said. Then Missy bowed, and we galloped away. I had had no chance to gossip with Thunderbolt, for we were not permitted to stand close or to touch noses. But I did notice that he looked me over carefully--and then his upper lip curled like the jockeys on my saddle. But I forgot his treatment. For soon I had worse luck than ever, and much poorer care. For the third time, a strange groom came for me. I knew better than to expect a return to a good stable. And I was right. We went two blocks toward the Hudson, and through a wide gate leading into a lot--a lot filled with wagons and little shacks of the kind that Chinamen live in on the Coast. It took me a minute to realise what was going to happen. “It _can’t_ be!” I said to myself. “Oh, Missy _wouldn’t_!” But it happened. I was led into a dark stall in one of those shanties!