bits of news for the press" as he went his daily rounds. "But this," I
exclaimed, "is just what I don't want and can't allow. Now if you should
drive in here some day and discover me dead, reclining against yonder
noble elm, or stark at its base, surrounded by my various pets, don't
allude to it in the most indirect way. I prefer the funeral to be
strictly private. Moreover, if I notice another 'item' about me, I'll
buy of your rival." And the trouble ceased.

But the horses! Still they came and went. I used to pay my friend the
rubicund surgeon to test some of these highly recommended animals in a
short drive with me.

One pronounced absolutely unrivaled was discovered by my wise mentor to
be "watch-eyed," "rat-tailed," with a swollen gland on the neck, would
shy at a stone, stand on hind legs for a train, with various other minor
defects. I grew fainthearted, discouraged, cynical, bitter. Was there no
horse for me? I became town-talk as "a drefful fussy old maid who
didn't know her own mind, and couldn't be suited no way."

I remember one horse brought by a butcher from West Bungtown. It was, in
the vernacular, a buck-skin. Hide-bound, with ribs so prominent they
suggested a wash-board. The two fore legs were well bent out at the
knees; both hind legs were swelled near the hoofs. His ears nearly as
large as a donkey's; one eye covered with a cataract, the other deeply
sunken. A Roman nose, accentuated by a wide stripe, aided the pensive
expression of his drooping under lip. He leaned against the shafts as if
he were tired.

"There, Marm," said the owner, eying my face as an amused expression
stole over it; "ef you don't care for style, ef ye want a good, steddy