At night they often forgot to rub him down, and sometimes,
after a long, hard day's work, he went without his supper."
"That was mean!" Robert's voice quivered with indignation.
"One day last March," went on Mr. Spencer, "I saw the poor fellow
standing in the cold wind and rain, with no blanket on. His head was
down and he was shivering with cold. I could hardly believe that it was
the same horse I had known a few years ago. To make a long story short,
I bought him for a small sum and took him to a stable near by. There I
saw him well rubbed down and fed with warm bran-mash. After a few days I
brought him out here. He is very happy and comfortable, but it will take
him all summer to get well. He can do only light work for the rest of
his life."
"Does he need any food but hay and grass?" Robert asked, as he held out
a handful of sweet clover to Whitey.
"If he were working, he should have plenty of oats," said the farmer;
"and all horses need a bran-mash once a week, at least."
"Will his tail ever grow again?" asked Robert.
"No," said Mr. Spencer," but I rub him with an ointment which the flies
do not like. I use it for all my horses and cows."
"I wish I could buy all the worn-out horses in the world and send them
here," said Robert.
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