“Five dollars, five dollars—­what am I offered?  Five dollars, five dollars, going at five dollars, five dollars—­going at five dollars—­going—­going, last bid, gentlemen!” The hammer came down with a blow that made Chad’s heart jump and brought a roar of laughter from the crowd.

“What is the name, please?” said the auctioneer, bending forward with great respect and dignity toward the diminutive purchaser.

“Chad.”

The auctioneer put his hand to one ear.

“I beg your pardon—­Dan’l Boone did you say?”

“No!” shouted Chad indignantly—­he began to feel that fun was going on at his expense.  “You heerd me—­Chad.”

“Ah, Mr. Chad.”

Not a soul knew the boy, but they liked his spirit, and several followed him when he went up and handed his five dollars and took the halter of his new treasure trembling so that he could scarcely stand.  The owner of the horse placed his hand on the little fellow’s head.

“Wait a minute,” he said, and, turning to a negro boy:  “Jim, go bring a bridle.”  The boy brought out a bridle, and the tall man slipped it on the old mare’s head, and Chad led her away—­the crowd watching him.  Just outside he saw the Major, whose eyes opened wide: 

“Where’d you get that old horse, Chad?”

“Bought her,” said Chad.

“What?  What’d you give for her?”

“Five dollars.”

The Major looked pained, for he thought the boy was lying, but Richard Hunt called him aside and told the story of the purchase; and then how the Major did laugh—­laughed until the tears rolled down his face.

And then and there he got out of his carriage and went into a saddler’s shop and bought a brand new saddle with a red blanket, and put it on the old mare and hoisted the boy to his seat.  Chad was to have no little honor in his day, but he never knew a prouder moment than when he clutched the reins in his left hand and squeezed his short legs against the fat sides of that old brown mare.

He rode down the street and back again, and then the Major told him he had better put the black boy on the mare, to ride her home ahead of him, and Chad reluctantly got off and saw the little darky on his new saddle and his new horse.

“Take good keer o’ that hoss, boy,” he said, with a warning shake of his head, and again the Major roared.

First, the Major said, he would go by the old University and leave word with the faculty for the school-master when he should come there to matriculate; and so, at a turnstile that led into a mighty green yard in the middle of which stood a huge gray mass of stone, the carriage stopped, and the Major got out and walked through the campus and up the great flight of stone steps and disappeared.  The mighty columns, the stone steps—­where had Chad heard of them?  And then the truth flashed.  This was the college of which the school-master had told him down in the mountains, and, looking, Chad wanted to get closer.