A breeder from England had heard of the famous Sir Wilton who now lay up in the hills under the heather, and he wanted to buy him.
Mr. Pederson could not sell him, but he would sell his colt, an exact image of Sir Wilton at that age.
The dealer looked the small horse over carefully while the children stood about with tear-stained faces, hanging on his every word. Finally he spoke, and they knew at once that little Dapples' fate was sealed.
"I will give you twenty pounds for him," the dealer said. Mr. Pederson nodded his head, at the same time looking fearfully at the children.
So it happened that just three years after Sir Wilton had ceme to the island, his colt went back to the mainland. He was sent in the same crate that his sire had come in. The children gave him one last brushing and petting, and then fled tearfully into the house while their father
