And sure enough, in a few days, we heard that the colt was dead.
Poor James Dobson felt very badly.

A number of the neighbors' boys went into see him, and there he stood gazing at the dead colt, and looking as if he wanted to cry.

Jack was there and I was at his heels, and though he said nothing for a time, I knew he was angry with the Dobsons for sacrificing the colt's life.

Presently he said, "You won't need to have that colt stuffed now he's dead, Dobson." "What do you mean?
Why do you say that ?" asked the boy, peevishly.
"Because you stuffed him while he was alive," said Jack, saucily.
Then we had to run for all we were worth, for the Dobson boy was after us, and as he was a big fellow he would have whipped Jack soundly.
I must not forget to say that Billy was washed regularly once a week with nice-smelling soaps and once a month with strong-smelling, disagreeable, carbolic soap.

He had his own towels and wash cloths, and after being rubbed and scrubbed, he was rolled in a blanket and put by the fire to dry.