Taking the reins and grasping the horse by the mane, Brush attempted to spring on his back, but the animal, all excited, trotted round and round. Father seized him by the bit, Brush lifted his right foot, father caught it, and in a twinkling the boy was on the horse. The mount was superb; the fiery creature sprang forward at a brisk gallop, but was checked by a skilled hand. "Give him a canter a short distance; he'll quiet down," said father. Brush did so and soon returned, the horse prancing about most gracefully. The course was on the bottom and as smooth as a floor. The twelve horses which were to run were taken to the farther end, about a mile away, and with them went the two men who were to manage the race. When the horses reached the starting point, they were ranged in line, and their riders were told to gallop them slowly and evenly to a point marked on the course. The two men rode along to see that the line was kept fairly; when the marked place was reached, the men shouted, "Ah--hu!" then every boy put his horse on the run. To us on the hill, the horses looked like small specks in the distance; but, by the sudden rising of a cloud of dust, we knew when the signal was given to run. For a time they were too far away for us to distinguish those in the lead; but, as the horses came nearer, we began to recognize them; two in the front were well ahead, neck and neck. "It's the roan!" shouted a tall man. "No, it's the bald face!" cried another. "Hurrah! Brush is in the lead!" yelled the freckled-faced white boy, swinging his ragged hat in the air as he ran up to where I was standing. "Gee whiz! look at him! look at him! My! I wish I could ride like that!" Brush leaned forward a little, loosened the reins a bit; the horse gathered fresh speed and gained a length. The boy on the roan leaned forward too, and, raising his right arm, brought down his whip on the flank, the animal bravely sprang forward, but his strength was exhausted, he could do no more. On came the bald face, and reached the goal nearly three lengths ahead. The men shouted themselves hoarse, and the women, with long-drawn breaths, praised the plucky little rider. Brush trotted up to my father, and delivered the horse. "Who are you, little brother?" asked father. For a moment Brush looked embarrassed, then lifting his eyes to father's face answered, "I am Tae-son's grandson and Sas-su's friend." "Your grandfather was my friend," said my father, looking kindly at the lad; "I am glad you like the company of my boy. You must always come with him on his visits home from the House of Teaching." Brush was touched by this recognition, and the tears started to his eyes. Seeing this, I intercepted the white boys who were running toward him. When I thought Brush had had time to master his feelings, I took the two boys to him, and they put their arms around him exclaiming, "Brush, that was grand!"