beyond her gratification.

And now that soft hand was laid gently on the pony's neck, and a
single low word spoken. How instantly were the tense muscles
relaxed--how quickly the stubborn air vanished.

"Poor Dick!" said the maiden, as she stroked his neck lightly, or
softly patted it with a child-like hand.

"Now, go along, you provoking fellow!" she added, in a half-chiding,
yet affectionate voice, as she drew upon the bridle. The pony turned
toward her, and rubbed his head against her arm for an instant or
two; then, pricking up his ears, he started off at a light, cheerful
trot, and went on his way as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever
entered his stubborn brain.

"What a wonderful power that hand possesses!" said I, speaking to my
companion, as we rode away.

He looked at me for a moment as if my remark had occasioned
surprise. Then a light came into his countenance, and he said,
briefly--

"She's good! Everybody and every thing loves her."

Was that, indeed, the secret of her power? Was the quality of her
soul perceived in the impression of her hand, even by brute beasts!
The father's explanation was, doubtless, the true one. Yet have I
ever since wondered, and still do wonder, at the potency which lay
in that maiden's magic touch. I have seen something of the same