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Rh he was not mean; he didn’t like state fairs, that was all. He and I stayed at Grandma’s until just before I left to go to Silverton. Old John had been turned out on what we called “The Snake Hill Pasture,” and there he and Old Charley were spending their last days. He was past twenty, as sound as a dollar, his only fault being that he was a little too fat and lazy. Grandfather had been over to the pasture to put out some squirrel poison; it was on Sunday, the last Sunday. I was to go to Silverton that afternoon. At the dinner table Grandfather spoke of the queer actions of Old John; said that he acted strange, that he first noticed him whinnying long and loud; then he would stop and listen, first with one ear forward, then with the other. His eye had a sparkle that it never had, except at a state fair, and he seemed nervous. “He came to me and nosed at all my pockets, to see if I had salt for him; then he would try to play; colthood seemed to return to him, but in the midst of his play he would stop and call; he would even try to look at the sun, and when I came to the bars to come away,” said Grandfather, “he came along and didn’t want to be left. When I looked back