Walter Perkins was the son of a banker. He and Tad Butler had been
born and brought up in the little village of Chillicothe, Missouri,
where they still lived, and, despite the difference in their social
positions, had been fast friends since they were little fellows.

Chunky was the son of a merchant in a small town in Massachusetts, and
had been visiting an uncle in Chillicothe for nearly a year past.

Walter was a delicate boy, and, reared in luxury, as he had been all
his life, he had sensed few of the delights of out-door life that were
so apparent in the face of his nimble friend, Tad. It was this
delicate physical condition that had brought about the gift of the
pony. The family physician had advised it in order that the boy might
have more out-door air, and on this May morning Walter had brought the
pony out to show to his admiring friends.

"Tad's a good rider. Isn't he a beauty?" breathed Chunky, as they
watched the progress of boy and horse down the street.

"Who, Tad?" asked Walter, absorbed in the contemplation of his new
possession.

"Tad! Pooh! No; the pony, of course. I don't see anything very
fetching about Tad, do you? But I should be willing to be as freckled
as he is if I could stick on a pony's back the way he does."

"Yes, he does know how to ride," agreed Walter. "And, by the way,
father is going to get a horse for Professor Zepplin, my tutor; then
we are going off on long rides every day, after my lessons are
done. The doctor says it will be good for me. Fine to have a doctor