of days with sweets and comforts for the asking,
but a time of struggle, a battle for supremacy,
and it is only through the battle that one
grows fit and ever more fit for the good of the
All.

Not the least of his trials was great loneliness.
One day was so very like another. Regularly
each morning, after seeking out his favorite corner
in the corral, he would see the sun step from
the mountain-tops, ascend through a cool morning,
pour down scorching midday rays, descend
through a tense afternoon, and drop from view
in the chill of evening. Always he would watch
this thing, sometimes standing, other times reclining,
but ever conscious of the dread monotony
of it all. Nothing happened, nobody came to
caress him, no one paid him the least attention.
A forlorn colt, a lonely colt, doubly so for lack
of a mother, he spent long days in moody contemplation
of an existence that irked.

One day, however, came something of interest
into the monotony of his life. Evidently tiring
of attending each horse in turn in the stalls,
Miguel built a general box for feed in one corner
of the inclosure, and then, by dint of loud swearing
and the free use of a pitchfork, instructed the colt
to feed from it with the others. Not that Pat required
instruction as to the feeding itself -- he
was too much alive to need driving in that respect.
But he did show nervous timidity at feeding with
the other horses, and so Miguel cheerfully went
to the urging with fork and tongue. But only

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v?