“How fast will he go?” Roy asked.

“Fast enough for a boy to ride.  From five to seven miles an hour, perhaps, and keep it up all day, if need be, for the Canadian horses have great strength and endurance.  The last time I saw Herbert he told me a pretty story about Elf King.”

“Is that his name?”

“Yes; isn’t it a pretty name?  Elf for fairy, you know, and King for the head of the fairies.  But perhaps I am keeping you, boys.  Is there any thing you ought to be doing at home?”

“No, no!” both answered together, and Sammy answered that he did up all his chores before he came away.

“Very well; then I will tell you about Elf King’s visit to the blacksmith.”

“Instead of next Wednesday?”

“Oh, dear, no!  I have a long story for next Wednesday.  This is very short, and doesn’t count; is just a little private entertainment thrown in on our own account.”

Roy, who had all this time sat uncomfortably on the edge of his chair, settled back, and Sammy made use of his favorite expression:—­

“All right!”

“When Elf King came into Herbert’s possession he had never been shod; but very soon he was taken to the village blacksmith and four funny little shoes fitted to his feet, which, when he was accustomed to, he liked very much.

“One day the blacksmith saw the pony trotting up to his shop without a halter.  He supposed the little thing had strayed from home, and drove him off, and when he refused to go, threw stones at him to make him run away.  But in a few moments back he came again.  When the blacksmith went out a second time to drive him off he noticed his feet and saw that one shoe was missing.  So he made a shoe, the pony standing by, quietly waiting.  When the new shoe was fitted Elf King pawed two or three times to see if it felt comfortable, gave a pleased little neigh, as much as to say, ‘Yes, that’s all right; thank you!’ and started for home on a brisk trot.

“Think how surprised and pleased Herbert was when he went to the stable to ride Elf King to the blacksmith’s, to find that the sharp little pony had taken the business into his own hands.”

“I tell you,” said Roy, “that’s a horse worth having.  What do you suppose that boy would take for him?”

“More money than you could raise in a hurry,” said Sammy.  “Miss Ruth, if you had a horse now that jibbed, would you lick him?”

“That jibbed,” she repeated doubtfully.

“Why, yes; stopped in the road, you know; wouldn’t go.”

“Oh, yes; now I understand.  No, indeed, Sammy!  If I had a horse that—­jibbed, I should be very patient with him and try to cure him of the bad habit by kindness.  I should know that beating would make him worse.”