And their looks, as they wheeled rapidly by me, as I crept along with the poor, suffering, limping "Nellie," were almost more than I could endure.
Horses were again brought for inspection, and there was a repetition of previous horrors.

At last a man came from Mossgrown.

He had an honest face; he knew of a man who knew of a man whose brother had just the horse for me, "sound, stylish, kind, gentle as a lamb, fast as the wind." Profiting by experience, I said I would look at it.

Next day, a young man, gawky and seemingly unsophisticated, brought the animal.

It looked well enough, and I was so tired.