The horse’s name was Prince, and he belonged to a farmer who had six children and very little money.
One day a stranger came down the road driving a big wagon, and he stopped when he saw Prince.
“Fine horse you drove to town yesterday,” he said. “I’ll buy him. Three hundred dollars.”
The farmer was a poor man. Three hundred dollars was more than he could easily refuse. His children didn’t like the look of the stranger — they couldn’t quite say why — but their father, after a long silence, said yes.
That night, the children said their goodbyes to Prince. None of them could bear to be there in the morning.
The farmer got up very early the next day and went to the stable. He hitched Prince to the wagon and took up the reins.
Prince gave a low whinny and turned to lick his master’s hand.
“Oh, Prince — don’t do that,” the farmer said, his voice catching.
They started down the road, the farmer holding the reins loosely, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to guide the horse toward town. Prince seemed to know exactly where they were going. He walked steadily ahead.
But every few minutes, he would turn and look back at his master. And in his large dark eyes — in the light of the morning — there were real tears.
The farmer stopped.
“Prince,” he said. “You’re worth more to us than any three hundred dollars. Turn around.”
Prince’s neigh rang out bright and joyful as he swung around on the road. They went home together, the farmer with the reins slack in his hands and Prince walking faster and faster as the farm came into view.
