John's lively fancy saw a tear in the huge, luminous eye, and his conscience smote him hard.
"I had to do it, Marne, old fellow," he called.

"You're so big and you stick up so high that you arouse attention, and that's just what I don't want." He had decided to call the horse Marne, after the river near by, and he noticed that he did not go far.

The animal, reassured by John's friendly after-word, began to crop the grass about twenty feet away.

He had a human friend after all, one on whom he could rely.

Man did not want to be bothered by him just then, but that was the way of man, and he did not mind, since the grass was so plentiful and good.