Hoof Beats 



praying. I let the horses go and knelt by her 

 side. 



"Jim," I heard her whisper to Trotter, "kiss 

 me. The mare has rolled me out. It's my back. 

 Don't worry, Jim; we understand, don't we.'^ It 

 won't seem so long, dear. " 



And with that she was gone. 



After that Trotter was never the same. He'd 

 answer you in an absent-minded way, but his 

 eyes looked vague and far-away. It always 

 seemed as if he saw more than the rest of us. 

 Perhaps he did. 



That spring I used to sit with him often on the 

 piazza of the little green and white farmhouse 

 trying to cheer him up. But often I have thought 

 that he hardly realized I was there, though he was 

 always well mannered and considerate. 



The following fall, hunting opened again. I 

 tried to make Trotter come out, but he wouldn't. 

 I think he'd seen enough of hunting. He couldn't 

 seem to bear even the sound of the hounds. But 

 he still kept his two half-bred hunters and the big 

 thoroughbred mare. 



Once or twice I rode with him, but found him 

 preoccupied and distrait, so concluded he had 

 lost all interest in the sport, which was bad. Later, 

 I'heard from several different people that he had 

 been encountered riding hard at night ; once when 

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