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 want to explain the blacksmith’s occupation and tell a story about the bay mare standing at the forge. Her name is Betty, a fine, high-bred creature with straight legs, arching neck, and a pure white star on her forehead. Her master, Mr. Bell, takes pride in having her rubbed down till her glossy sides fairly shine. She is so intelligent that when the time comes for her regular visit to the blacksmith she walks off of her own accord to the familiar spot. The bloodhound Laura, her boon companion, has followed her here. No halter is necessary to keep her standing, but she takes her place quietly as if perfectly at home. A shaggy little donkey is also there waiting his turn very meekly. When Betty appeared at the shop, the blacksmith first removed her old shoes and pared and filed her feet. Then he chose new shoes as near the right size as possible and shaped them one by one. Holding the shoe in his long tongs, he thrusts it into the fire while he fans the flame with the bellows. Thence it is transferred, a glowing red crescent, to the pointed anvil near the window. Now the workman swings his hammer upon it with ringing strokes and the sparks fly up in a shower. The soft metal is shaped at will, the ends are bent to form the heels, the holes pierced for the nails, and the shoe is ready to try on. If it is a satisfactory fit, it is thrust hissing into a barrel of cold water, and when it is hardened, it is nailed to the hoof. Betty is now having the left hind shoe fastened in place. The blacksmith holds her foot between his legs against his leather apron. Laura thrusts her nose out inquisitively as if super-