faint after it and thought I should die, and I believe they all thought
so too.

Ginger and Merrylegs had been moved into the other stable, so that I
might be quiet, for the fever made me very quick of hearing; any little
noise seemed quite loud, and I could tell every one's footstep going to
and from the house. I knew all that was going on. One night John had to
give me a draught; Thomas Green came in to help him. After I had taken
it and John had made me as comfortable as he could, he said he should
stay half an hour to see how the medicine settled. Thomas said he
would stay with him, so they went and sat down on a bench that had been
brought into Merrylegs' stall, and put down the lantern at their feet,
that I might not be disturbed with the light.

For awhile both men sat silent, and then Tom Green said in a low voice:

"I wish, John, you'd say a bit of a kind word to Joe. The boy is quite
broken-hearted; he can't eat his meals, and he can't smile. He says he
knows it was all his fault, though he is sure he did the best he knew,
and he says if Beauty dies no one will ever speak to him again. It goes
to my heart to hear him. I think you might give him just a word; he is
not a bad boy."

After a short pause John said slowly, "You must not be too hard upon me,
Tom. I know he meant no harm, I never said he did; I know he is not a
bad boy. But you see, I am sore myself; that horse is the pride of my
heart, to say nothing of his being such a favorite with the master and
mistress; and to think that his life may be flung away in this manner is
more than I can bear. But if you think I am hard on the boy I will try
to give him a good word to-morrow--that is, I mean if Beauty is better."