"I turned to one of the men. 'Catch that mare quick.'
"In a few minutes we had the harness off the dead wheeler and on the new-comer. Pull? Gentlemen, if you could have seen those two horses pull!
"We'd just got a move on the gun when another shell came and seemed to burst right on top of the strange mare. I heard a terrified squeal, and through the smoke I saw her stagger and with a mighty effort recover herself. I ran round and saw she'd been badly hit over the eye and had a great tearing gash in the neck. We never thought she could go on, but she pulled away just the same, with the blood pouring off her, till finally we got the gun out and down the road to safety.
"I got knocked out a few minutes later, and from that day to this I've often wondered what had happened to the mare that had served us so gallantly. I know now. There she stands before you. I'd know her out of a thousand by the white blaze; and if there was a doubt there's her blind eye and the scar on her neck.
"That's all, gentlemen; but I'm going to ask the man who buys her to remember her story and to see that her last days are not too hard."
She fell at a good price to a splendid type of West Country farmer, and the auctioneer whispered to me, "I'm glad old Carey's got her. There's not a man in the county keeps his horses better."
"Old Carey" came up to me as we were moving off. "I had a son in France," he said, "in the gunners, too, but he hadn't the luck of the old mare"—he hesitated a moment and his old eyes looked steadily into mine—"for he'll never come back. The mare'll be all right, Sir," he went on as he walked off, "easy work and full rations. I reckon she's earned them."
"The bride was given away by her grandfather who was dressed in Liberty satin in empire style, with hanging sleeves of chiffon."—Provincial Paper.
He must have looked a sweet old dear.