which she was soon to have the bliss of driving. She thought it about
as nice a horse as she had ever seen. Her curiosity overcame her
momentary shyness. "Is it your horse, January?"

He smiled. "No, 'deed, missy, but I raised her from a colt, and she
loves me like I wuz her massa. Why, she runs to me from de pasture
when I jes' calls, while she's dat ornary wid odders, dey jes' can't
cotch her. It takes old January to cotch dis horse, don't it, Dolly?"

The horse whinnied.

"Is Dolly her name?"

"Dat's what I calls her, honey. It ain't her real name. Her real
name----"

"Oh, has she a nickname, too? She's like me then. My name isn't
really Beth."

"'Deed?" he asked with polite interest.

"It's Elizabeth, but I'm called that only when I have tantrums."

"What am dem, missy?"

"Well," she blushingly stammered, "I sometimes forget to be good, and
then I can't help having them--tantrums, you know. Just like the
little girl with the curl who, when she was bad, was horrid. January,
are you ever horrid?"