“What is it, Levis?” she asked; “something more that you can share with the rest of us?”

“Yes,” he returned; then read aloud: 

“That was Friday night, and this is Saturday evening.  This afternoon Hunt and I were allowed to go into the city.  We were walking along one of the side streets, and came upon a man who was beating his horse most unmercifully.

“The poor thing was just a bag of bones, that seemed to have nothing but skin over them, and was hitched to a cart heavily loaded with earth and stones; its head was down, and it looked ready to drop, while the savage wretch (not worthy to be called a man) was beating it furiously, and cursing and swearing in a towering passion; men and boys gathering around, and some calling him to stop.

“But he didn’t pay the smallest attention, till the poor beast spoke—­at least the voice seemed to come from its mouth—­’Aren’t you ashamed to be beating me so, and swearing at me, too, when you’ve starved me till I haven’t strength to drag even myself another step?’

“At that the man stopped both his beating and swearing, and stood looking half scared out of his wits.  The crowd, too, looked thunderstruck; and presently one fellow said, ’It’s the story of Balaam and his ass over again.  There must be an angel somewhere round,’ glancing from side to side as he spoke, in a way that almost made me laugh, angry as I was at the human brute, or rather the inhuman scoundrel, who had been treating the poor creature so cruelly.

“Others looked too, but didn’t seem to be able to see the angel.

“Hunt, standing close at my side, gave a low whistle.  ’What, upon earth?’ he said.  ’Oh, there must be a ventriloquist somewhere in the crowd.  I’d like to know who he is.  Wouldn’t you, Max?’

“Do you really think that’s the explanation?’ I asked.  ‘Certainly,’ he answered, in a tone as if he was rather disgusted at my stupidity.  ’How else could you account for the seeming ability of that wretched animal to talk?’

“‘I can’t think of any other explanation,’ I answered, ’but I hope that inhuman wretch of a driver doesn’t know anything about ventriloquists, and so will be afraid to ill-use the poor creature any more.’  ’I hope so, indeed,’ he said.  ’See, the crowd are stroking and patting it, and yonder comes a man with a bucket of water, and another with a panful of oats.  The ventriloquist has done some good.’

“‘I’m glad of it,’ I replied.  Then, looking at my watch, I saw that it was time for us to go back to the Academy.

“Hunt told the story to some of the other fellows that evening, and there was great wonderment about the ventriloquist, and a good many wished they could have a chance to see him and some of his tricks.  Some of them remarked, in a wondering way, that I seemed very indifferent about it, and then I told them of Cousin Ronald and his doings at Ion, which interested them very much, and several said they would like greatly to make his acquaintance and see and hear what he could do.  Isn’t it good, papa, that they have never once suspected me?”