and nursed his rage against the day when he should again come to grips with his hated rival.
So the winter passed and spring came again. Finally Sir Wilton was once more driven back to the pastures among the hills. Here he and Black Fury met often, and their encounters were more savage and of longer duration than they had ever been before, for both were older and heavier. About the middle of the summer Sir Wilton came limping to the farmhouse with a badly strained ligament, and was obliged to keep quiet for several weeks, but he finally went back to the hills and his tormentor. Thus the seasons came and went,—the short summers with their fleeting beauty, which seemed even more beautiful to the islanders because it was so transient, and the short spring and autumn and the cold, hard winters. Through it all Sir Wilton grew in stature and weight and also in beauty. It was finally admitted by all the breeders that he was the most beau-
