Mother had told him, time and again, not to set his heart so; father had, too and Laddie, and every one of us, but that little half-Arab, half-Kentucky mare was the worst temptation a man who loved horses could possibly have; and while father and mother stopped at good work horses, and matched roadsters for the carriage, they managed to prize and tend them so that every one of us had been born horse-crazy, and we had been allowed to ride, care for, and taught to love horses all our lives.

Treat a horse ugly, and we'd have gone on the thrashing floor ourselves.
Father laid the letter face down, his hand on it, and shook his head.
"This is too bad!" he said.

"It's a burning shame, but the money, the exact amount, was taken from a farmer in Medina County, Ohio, by a traveller he sheltered a few days, because he complained of a bad foot.
The description of the man who robbed us is perfect.

The money was from the sale of some prize cattle.

It will have to be returned." "Just let me see the letter a minute," said Laddie.
He read it over thoughtfully.