hours that they were to be together, when he was to have her "all to
himself." But, alas, the plans were all disarranged by David.

Now Saturday, when you come to think of it, is always a day of joy--
even if there must be a visitor. To begin with, there is no school, so
you have plenty of time to attend to many important affairs connected
with playthings. Then, the gravel paths must be raked and the garden
made tidy for Sunday, and so there is brush and refuse to be burned;
and that means baking potatoes in the ashes, and (as you will
remember), unless you stand, coughing, in the smoke to watch them, the
potatoes are so apt to burn. Also, the phaeton is washed with peculiar
care to make it fine for church; the wheels must be jacked up, one
after the other, and spun round and round; then, if you go about it
the right way, you can induce George to let you take the big, gritty
sponge out of the black water of the stable bucket, and after
squeezing it hard in your two hands, you may wipe down the spokes of
one wheel. Besides these things, there are always the rabbits. Right
after breakfast, David had run joyously out to see Mr. and Mrs. Smith,
but while he poked lettuce leaves between the bars of their hutch, the
thought struck him that this was the moment to demonstrate that
interesting fact in natural history, so well known to those of your
friends who happen to be stablemen, but doubted by Dr. Lavendar,
namely, that a hair from the pony's tail will, if soaked in water,
turn into a snake. David shuddered at the word, but ran to the stable
and carefully pulled two hairs from the pony's silvery-gray tail. The
operation was borne with most obliging patience, but when he stooped
to pick up another beautiful long hair from the straw--for when you
are making snakes you might as well make plenty, alas! the pony was so
absent-minded as to step back--and down came the iron-shod hoof on the
small, eager hand!