horse could stand, or drive him off his legs, and, when he's played out,
they get back at the man who sold him to them, and like as not there's a
lawsuit afoot that the price of the colt four times over couldn't
square, to say nothing of a reputation NO stock-farm can afford to
have."

Shelby's sense was certainly very sound horse-sense and was rigidly
abided by. Consequently, the colts which left Severndale were in the
pride and glory of their young horsehood, and this year they were a most
promising lot. There were eleven to be disposed of, and, thanks to
Peggy's care and training, as fine a bunch of horseflesh as could be
found in the land. She had trained--not broken, she could not tolerate
that word--every one and each knew his or her name and came at Peggy's
call as a child, loving and obeying her implicitly. Among them were two
exceptionally beautiful creatures--a splendid chestnut with a white star
in the middle of his forehead, and a young filly, half-sister to the
chestnut and little Boy. The chestnut was called Silver Star, the filly
Columbine, for the singular gentleness of her disposition. She was a
golden bay, slender and lithe as a fawn, with great fawn-like brown eyes
full of gentleness and love for all, and for Peggy in particular. She
had been sold, under the usual conditions during the previous year and
was soon to be sent to her new home.

One morning, the second week in October, Peggy opened a letter which
held unusual interest for her. It was from a lady whose home was in
Wilmot Hall in Annapolis. Wilmot Hall was the hotel near the Naval
Academy and mostly patronized by the officers and their families. The
letter was from the wife of a naval officer who wished either to hire or
purchase a riding horse for her niece who would spend the winter with
her. She stated very explicitly that the horse must be well broken