“O, Dotty Dimple, run into the house this very minute, please to,” exclaimed Susy, “and ask mother—­if she’s combing her hair, or anything—­to come right out here as quick as she can run, and not wait!  O, dear, dear, dear!  Why, Dotty Dimple Parlin! you haven’t started yet!  Quick! quick! quick!”

Dotty, who had only waited to be spoken to the second time, now ran in such haste that she stumbled on the piazza steps; but, nothing daunted, jumped up and went on, delighted to know that this time something had probably happened.  She startled her mother, and called her away from her toilet, with the sudden cry that the boys and pony were ’most killed.

At the same time she had the pleasure of throwing Prudy into a panic,—­dear little Prudy, who had been for the last five minutes searching her treasures in the hope of finding some toy which would replace Susy’s teapot.

Prudy and Dotty appeared at the gate in a very brief space; Prudy with her mouth in the shape of the letter O, and Mrs. Parlin not far off, in the act of fastening her breastpin.

“Well, boys, what is it?” said the good lady, smiling.  “I hardly think anything very serious has happened, either to you or the pony.”

“You tell,” said Eddy to Charley; “I dassn’t.  The blacksmith’s man may be mad if I do.  But he’s abused this hoss, though,” continued Eddy, not waiting to let Charley speak for him; “he’s abused him awfully!  It’s right up and down mean; and three of us boys seen him!”

Susy clasped her hands, and performed a “stamp-act” on the pavement.

“See there,” said Eddy, pointing triumphantly to Wings’ left hind leg; “see that—­will you?”

True enough, there were two or three small wounds, out of which was oozing thick dark blood.  Susy looked as if her heart was breaking, but not a word did she speak.

“Pete Grimes did that with his hobnail, cowhide boots!” said Eddy, sternly.

“With his hammer, you mean,” interposed Charley.

“With his boot, sir,” persisted Eddy, with increasing eloquence.  “Didn’t I see him, me and Dan Murphy?  Didn’t we stand there by the coal-bin, sir?  He booted him well, Mis’ Parlin.  I’ll tell you where he did it; here on the left side, ma’am.  Look where the hair sticks up!  Pooty well mauled—­ain’t he, ma’am?  Pete swore at him, too.  Never heard such talk—­did you, Charley?”

“No, ma’am, I never did,” replied Master Charley, addressing Mrs. Parlin, who fancied she could detect on Wings’ glossy hide the marks of a boot, though there were no traces of the wicked oaths.

“It is a most abusive thing—­if it is so,” said she, with much feeling; for if anything could move her gentle heart to anger, it was cruelty to animals.  “What made Mr. Grimes behave so strangely, boys?  Was the pony restless?”

“Restless?  No, indeed, ma’am,” replied Eddy, the orator; “as gentle as a lamb, ma’am.  It was Pete Grimes’s wicked temper, and his wicked disposition; that’s what it was.”