“Have you ever thought,” she asked, “of the flower that fell from the bier which you persisted in fastening to the lapel of your coat?” “Am I to be forever doomed, then, for that one perverse act?” he exclaimed. “Oh, I don’t know. I believe, though, there is an old adage which they say affords some consolation to those who recount their losses.” “And, pray, what is the adage?” “Let me see—I think it runs something like this: ‘Unlucky in sport, lucky in l—’” The word died upon her lips. It was smothered by a kiss. There was a low whinny near the window of the carriage now as it stopped, and little Cassandra was peering eagerly in, from beneath her gray blanket. The boy led her closer to the window; and, as the mistress clasped her head in her arms, Grannan clasped the mistress in his. The History of the Hals CHAPTER VIII. By JOHN TROTWOOD MOORE (NOTE—In the beginning we promised our readers that the History of the Hals would not be confined entirely to dry statistics, but would include stories of these horses, and practical information relating to other horse matters. Hence, these two following papers—Editor) Editor Trotwood’s: In reading your very interesting and instructive “History of the Hals” and your learned dissertation on the difference between the trot and the pace, I am reminded of one of the most laughable and richest races I ever saw, and which has never been in print before. Understand that thirty-three years ago, when this true story happened, we did not know as much about the difference between the trot and the pace as we do to-day, and which was so ably illustrated in your preceding chapters. Very well—now, for the place: An Illinois town near the Indiana line. Abe Stickney and Bob Langdon, living in adjoining towns, were rival dealers in road and track horses in a small way. Some time before my story opens Langdon, by a little shrewd, and, perhaps, not quite fair dealing, “singed” Abe for a couple of hundred, and the latter was “laying for him,” as the saying goes. Abe was “game,” and never had uttered a word of complaint, but had kept up a “deal of thinkin’.” In other words, to use one from “The Bishop of Cottontown,” he “froze.” He was over in Indiana one day, and at a county fair saw a horse of the Blue Bull family, called Hoosier Boy.