With forehead star, and silver tail,
And three white feet to match,
The gay, half-broken, sorrel colt,
Which one of us could catch?

"I can!" said Dick, "I'm good for that";
He slowly shook his empty hat;
"She'll think 'tis full of corn," said he;
"Stand back, and she will come to me."
Her head the shy, proud creature raised
As 'mid the daisy flowers she grazed;
Then down the hill, across the brook,
Delaying oft, her way she took;
Then changed her pace, and, moving quick,
She hurried on, and came to Dick.
"Ha! ha!" he cried, "I've caught you, Beck":
And put the halter round her neck.

But soon there came another day,
And, eager for a ride,
"I'll go and catch the colt again,
I can," said Dick with pride.

So up the stony pasture lane,
And up the hill he trudged again;
And when he saw the colt, as slow
He shook his old hat to and fro,
"She'll think 'tis full of corn," he thought,
"And I shall have her quickly caught.
Beck! Beck!" he called; and at the sound,
The restless beauty looked around,
Then made a quick, impatient turn,
And galloped off among the fern.
And when beneath a tree she stopped,
And leisurely some clover cropped,
Dick followed after, but in vain;
His hand was just upon her mane,
When off she flew, as flies the wind,
And, panting, he pressed on behind.
Down through the brake, the brook across,
O'er bushes, thistles, mounds of moss,
Round and around the place they passed,
Till breathless, Dick sat down at last;
Threw by, provoked, his empty hat,—
"The colt," he said, "remembers that!
There's always trouble from deceit,
I'll never try again to cheat."
MARIAN DOUGLASS.