THE STORY OF OLD STAR.
"Say, Sam!" said Roy Tyler, as the two boys were driving old Brindle
home from pasture the next evening, "don't you wish she'd tell us some
stories about horses? I'm tired of hearing about cats and ants."
"Well, I don't know," Sammy answered; "'twas funny about old Robber
Grim. There's just such an old cat round our barn, catchin' chickens and
suckin' eggs. I've fired more rocks at that feller--hit him once in the
hind leg an' he went off limpin'."
"Well, I want a horse story, and I know she'd just as soon tell one as
not, if somebody would only ask her. Those girls will be wantin'
another cat story if we don't start something else. Girls always do like
cats," said Roy, a little scornfully. "Say, Sam, you ask her, will you?"
"Why don't you ask her yourself?"
"Oh, I don't know. I tried to yesterday, but somehow I couldn't get it
out."
"Well, I'll tell you what I will do," said good-natured Sammy. "You come
round to-night after I get my chores done up, and we'll go together and
have it over with."
"All right; I'll come," said Roy.
They found Miss Ruth alone, for it was Thursday night and the minister's
family were at the prayer-meeting. The September evening was chilly, and
she was sitting before an open fire.
"You do the talking," Roy whispered at the door, and accordingly Sammy,
after fidgeting in his seat a little, opened the subject.
"Roy wants me to ask you," he began, and then stopped at a punch in the
side from Roy's knuckles, and began again: "Me and Roy would like--if it
wouldn't be too much trouble, and you'd just as soon as not--to have you
tell us a horse story next time." Then in a loud whisper aside to Roy:
"You _did_ ask me! You know you did."
"Well, you needn't put it all on me, if I did," Roy answered, in the
same tone.
Miss Ruth appeared not to notice this by-play.
"A horse story," she said pleasantly; "yes, why not?"
"You see," Sammy continued, "we like to hear about cats well enough, and
that ant battle was first-rate--I'd like to have seen it, I know; but
Roy, he says the girls might be writin' notes askin' you to tell more
cat stories and--and--well"--
"Yes, I see," she said; "too much of a good thing. Well, I will tell no
more cat stories, and it shall be all horse next Wednesday. Will that
suit you, Sammy? And Roy, do you like horses very much?"
"Yes, 'm," said Roy, bashfully.
"He says," said Sammy, rather enjoying the office of spokesman, "when he
grows up he means to have a fast trotter. I'd like to own a good horse
myself," continued Sam.
"I know a boy about your age," said Miss Ruth, "whose father gave him,
for a birthday present, a Canadian pony; a funny looking little beast,
not much larger than a big dog, but strong enough to carry double
Herbert's weight."
"Like the Shetland ponies at the show?"
"Yes; but larger, and not so costly. He is a thick-set, shaggy fellow,
always looking as if he were not half-groomed, with his coat all rough
and tumbled, his legs covered with thick hair, his mane hanging on both
sides of his neck, and his forelock always getting into his bright
little eyes."
"What color?" said Roy.
"Dark brown; not handsome, but so affectionate and intelligent that you
would love him dearly. He is as frolicsome as a kitten, and I laughed
and laughed again to see him racing round the yard, hardly able to see
for the shag of hair tumbling over his eyes, playing queer tricks and
making uncouth gambols, more like a big puppy than a small horse. To be
sure he has a will of his own, and has more than once--just for
fun--thrown his young master over his head; but he always stands stock
still till the boy is on his back again, and as Herbert says: 'It is
only a little way to fall from his back to the ground.'"
"How fast will he go?" Roy asked.
"Fast enough for a boy to ride. From five to seven miles an hour,
perhaps, and keep it up all day, if need be, for the Canadian horses
have great strength and endurance. The last time I saw Herbert he told
me a pretty story about Elf King."
"Is that his name?"
"Yes; isn't it a pretty name? Elf for fairy, you know, and King for the
head of the fairies. But perhaps I am keeping you, boys. Is there any
thing you ought to be doing at home?"
"No, no!" both answered together, and Sammy answered that he did up all
his chores before he came away.
"Very well; then I will tell you about Elf King's visit to the
blacksmith."
"Instead of next Wednesday?"
"Oh, dear, no! I have a long story for next Wednesday. This is very
short, and doesn't count; is just a little private entertainment thrown
in on our own account."
Roy, who had all this time sat uncomfortably on the edge of his chair,
settled back, and Sammy made use of his favorite expression:--
"All right!"
"When Elf King came into Herbert's possession he had never been shod;
but very soon he was taken to the village blacksmith and four funny
little shoes fitted to his feet, which, when he was accustomed to, he
liked very much.
"One day the blacksmith saw the pony trotting up to his shop without a
halter. He supposed the little thing had strayed from home, and drove
him off, and when he refused to go, threw stones at him to make him run
away. But in a few moments back he came again. When the blacksmith went
out a second time to drive him off he noticed his feet and saw that one
shoe was missing. So he made a shoe, the pony standing by, quietly
waiting. When the new shoe was fitted Elf King pawed two or three times
to see if it felt comfortable, gave a pleased little neigh, as much as
to say, 'Yes, that's all right; thank you!' and started for home on a
brisk trot.
"Think how surprised and pleased Herbert was when he went to the stable
to ride Elf King to the blacksmith's, to find that the sharp little
pony had taken the business into his own hands."
"I tell you," said Roy, "that's a horse worth having. What do you
suppose that boy would take for him?"
"More money than you could raise in a hurry," said Sammy. "Miss Ruth, if
you had a horse now that jibbed, would you lick him?"
"That jibbed," she repeated doubtfully.
"Why, yes; stopped in the road, you know; wouldn't go."
"Oh, yes; now I understand. No, indeed, Sammy! If I had a horse
that--jibbed, I should be very patient with him and try to cure him of
the bad habit by kindness. I should know that beating would make him
worse."
"Well, that's what I think, and the other day pa and I were huskin' corn
in the barn, and there was a horse jibbed on our hill, and the driver
got down and licked him with the butt end of his whip, and kicked him
with his great cowhide boots, and I asked pa if I might take out a
measure of oats and see if I couldn't coax that horse to take his load
up the hill--you see pa owned a jibber once and I knew how he used to
manage him. And pa said I might, only I'd better look out or the fellow
would use me as he was usin' the horse. But I wasn't afraid, for he was
half-drunk, and I knew I could clip it faster'n he could.
"Well, sir, I went out there and I stood around a while, and says I,
'What'll you bet I can't get your horse to the top of the hill?' And he
said he wouldn't bet a red cent. 'Well,' says I,'will you let me try
just for fun?' and he said, 'Yes, I might try all day if I wanted to.'
And I got him to stand one side, where the horse couldn't see him, and I
went up to the horse's head and stroked his nose and gave him a handful
of oats, just a little taste, you know, and when he was kind of calmed
down I went a ways ahead holdin' out the measure of oats, and if that
horse didn't follow me up that hill just as quiet as an old sheep, and
the man he stood by and looked streaked, I tell you!"
Sammy told his story with considerable animation and some forcible
gestures.
"That was well done," said Miss Ruth, "and I hope the cruel fellow
profited by the lesson you gave him. I don't think I'm naturally
vindictive, but when I see a man beating a horse I find myself wishing
I was strong enough to snatch the whip from him and lay it well about
his own shoulders. But come, boys, the fire is down to coals--just right
for popping corn. Sammy, you know the way to the kitchen. Ask Lovina for
the corn-popper and a dish, and, Roy, you'll find a paper bag full of
corn in the cupboard yonder. Quick, now, and we'll have the dish piled
by the time Susie and Mollie are back from meeting."
"Haven't we had a gay old time," said Roy, on the way home, "and ain't
you glad I put you up to coming, Sam Ray?" And Sammy admitted that he
was.
* * * * *
"Now, girls and boys," said Miss Ruth, on the next Wednesday afternoon,
"I am going to take you on a long journey,--in fancy, I mean,--over the
hills and plains and valleys, to the country of the Far West, with its
rolling prairies and big fields of wheat and corn. You shall be set down
in a green meadow, with a stream running through it, shallow and clear
at this time of year, but a little later, when the September rains have
filled it, rushing along full of deep, muddy water.
"Under a big oak in about the middle of the pasture you will find an old
horse feeding. He is fat and sleepy looking, and has a kind face, and a
white spot on his forehead. This is Old Star, Farmer Horton's
family-horse. You may pat his neck and stroke his nose and feed him a
cookie or a bit of gingerbread,--I am afraid the old fellow hasn't teeth
enough left to chew an apple,--and then you may sit near him on the
grass, and while I read aloud to you, fancy that he is talking, and, if
you have plenty of imagination, you will get
THE STORY OF OLD STAR, TOLD BY HIMSELF.
"I hope nobody thinks I am turned out in this pasture because I am too
old to work. Horses pass here every day drawing heavy loads, older by
half a dozen years than I am, poor broken-down hacks too, most of them,
while I--well, if it wasn't for a little stiffness in the joints and a
giving out of wind, now and then, I can't see but what I'm as well able
to travel as I ever was.
"The fact is, I never was put to hard work. There were always horses
enough besides me on the place to do the farm work and the teaming--Tom
and Jerry and the colt, you know; not Filly's colt: he died, poor
thing, before he was a year old, of that disease with a long name that
carried off so many horses all over the country: but a great shambling
big-boned beast old master swapped a yoke of steers for, over to Skipton
Mills. We called him Goliath, he was so tall: strong as an elephant,
too: a powerful hand at a horse-rake and mowing-machine. Well, well, how
time flies, to be sure! He's been dead and gone these five years, and
Tom and Jerry, they were used up long ago--there's a deal of hard work
to be done on a farm of this size, I can tell you; and as to Filly, she
came to a sad end, for she got mired down in the low pasture, and had to
be hauled out with ropes, poor critter, and died of the wet and the
cold.
"Well, as I was saying, I never was put to hard work. I was born and
raised on the place, and I do suppose--though I say it, who
shouldn't--that I was an uncommon fine--looking colt, dark chestnut in
color, and not a white hair on me except this spot in my forehead that
gave me my name. When I was three months old, master made a present of
me to his oldest boy on his sixteenth birthday, and every half-hour
Master Fred could spare from his work, he used to spend in dressing down
and feeding me and teaching me cunning tricks. I could take an apple or
a lump of sugar from his pocket, walk down the slope behind the barn on
two legs, with my forefeet on his shoulders, and shake hands, old master
used to say, 'just like a Christian.'
"Master Fred set great store by me, as well he might. He's traveled
hundreds of miles on my back over the prairies, and we've been out
together many a dark night when he'd drop the lines on my neck and say,
"Well, Star, go ahead if you know the way, for not one inch can I see
before my nose." That was after he learned by experience that I knew
better than he did where to go, and when to stop going. For he lost his
temper and called me hard names one night, when I stopped short in the
middle of the road and wouldn't budge an inch for voice or whip, with
the wind blowing a gale, and the rain coming down in bucketsful. But
when a flash of lightning showed the bridge before us clean washed away,
and only a few feet between us and the steep bank of the river, Master
Fred changed his tune. Afraid! not I; but I'm willing to own I _was_ a
little scared the day we got into the water down by Cook's Cove, for
you see I was hitched to the buggy and the lines got tangled about my
legs, and there were chunks of ice and lots of driftwood floating about,
and the current sucking me down; but master had got to shore and stood
on the bank calling, "This way, Star, this way!" and when I heard his
voice I--well, I don't know how I managed to do it, but I turned square
round and swam upstream with the buggy behind me, and got safe and sound
to land. I've heard Master Fred say my back was covered with
river-grass, and I trembled all over with the fright and the hard pull.
"But, dear me, all that happened long ago when master was courting old
Tim Bunce's daughter Martha, down Stony Creek Road. How that girl did
take to me! She used to say she knew the sound of my hoofs on the road,
of a still night, when we were a mile away; and she'd say over a little
rhyme she'd got hold of somehow:--
'Star, Star, good and bright,
I wish you may and I wish you might
Bring somebody to me I want to see to-night.'
"If she said that twice, looking straight down the road, she told us we
were sure to come. She was a plump rosy-cheeked girl when Master Fred
brought her to be mistress here, though you mightn't think it to see her
now, what with the cooking and the dairy-work and raising a big family
of children. But if you want to know what mistress was like twenty years
ago, you've only to look at our Ada.
"Now, there's a girl for you, as good as she is pretty, and getting to
be a woman grown; though I remember, as though it happened yesterday,
her mother's coming out one spring day to where I was nibbling grass in
the door-yard, with her baby in her arms, and holding up the little
thing to me, and saying, 'This is Ada, Star,--you must be good friends
with Ada,' Friends! I should say so. Before that child was a year old,
she used to cry to be held on my back for a ride, and when she was
getting better of the scarlet fever, she kept saying, 'Me 'ant to tee
ole 'Tar,' till, to pacify her, they led me to the open window of the
room where she lay, and she reached her mite of a hand from the bed to
stroke my nose and give me the lump of sugar she had saved for me under
her pillow.
"Bless the child! And it was just so with all the rest, Tim and Martha
and Fred and Jenny and baby May--there was a new baby in that house
every year. Those young ones would crawl over me, and sit on me, when I
was lying down in the stable; ride me, three or four at a time, without
bridle or saddle, and cling to my neck and tail when there was no room
left on my back. They shared their apples and gingerbread with me, and
brought me goodies on a plate sometimes so that I might eat my dinner,
they said, 'like the rest of the folks,' I fetched them to and from
school, and trotted every day to the post-office and the Corners to do
the family errands; and when our Ada was old enough to be trusted to
drive, the whole lot of them would pile into the carryall, and away we
would go for a long ride, through the lanes and the shady woods that
border the pond, stopping a dozen times for the girls to clamber out and
pick the wild posies and for the boys to skip stones or wade in the
water. For _I_ was in no hurry to go on. There was plenty of tender
grass to be cropped by the roadside, and the young leaves of the maples
and white birch were sweet and juicy.
"'Take good care of them, Star,' mistress used to say, standing in the
door-way to see us off; 'you have a precious load, but we trust you,
kind, faithful old friend,'
"And so she might. I knew I must just creep down the hills with those
children behind me, and never stop for a drink at Rocky Brook, though I
were ever so thirsty, because of the sharp pitch down to the
watering-trough. And though from having been scared nearly to death,
when I was a colt, by a wheelbarrow in the road, I always _have_ to shy
a little when I see one, our Ada will tell you, if you ask her, that in
the circumstances, I behaved very well.
"_She_ behaved well. She always chose the well-traveled roads, and gave
me plenty of room to turn. Once, I remember, they all wanted to take a
short cut by way of an old corduroy road; and though, if master had been
driving, I should have made no objection, and, as like as not, with a
little jolting and pitching, we should have got safe over, I didn't feel
like taking the responsibility, with all those young ones along, of
going that way; so I tried to make our Ada understand the state of my
mind, and after a while she did; for she said: 'Well, Star, if you don't
want to draw us over those logs, I'm not going to make you,' Now, wasn't
that sensible?
"Well, if I was proud and happy to be trusted with master's family on
week-days, think how I must have felt of a Sunday morning in the summer
time, with mistress dressed in her silk gown, and our Ada in muslin and
pink ribbons, and the boys in their best clothes, and master riding
along-side on Tom or Jerry, all going to meeting together. I liked
hearing the bells ring, and I liked being hitched under the maple-trees,
with all the neighbors' horses to keep me company. We generally dozed
while the folks were indoors, and woke up brisk and lively, and started
for home in procession.
"But, dear! dear! there came a time when, with five horses on the farm,
not one could be had to give the children a ride or to do a stroke of
work, when master had to foot it to the Corners, and the two steers, Old
Poke and Eyebright, dragged mistress and the children to meeting in the
ox-cart.
"For we were all down with the epizoötic, coughing and sneezing enough
to take our heads off, and so sick and low, some of us, that we couldn't
stand in our stalls, and a man with a red face, Master Fred had over
from Skipton Mills, pouring nasty stuff down our throats, and making us
swallow big black balls of medicine that hurt as they went down--as if
we hadn't enough to suffer before! But our Jenny came to the stable with
a piece of pork-rind, and a bandage she'd made out of her little
red-flannel petticoat, and she wanted Master Fred to put it on my neck;
for, says she: 'That's what ma put on me when I had the sore
throat,'--the blessed child!
"Well, we all pulled through except Filly's colt. He keeled over one
morning, poor fellow! and was dragged out and buried under the oaks in
the high pasture. But for some reason, I didn't pick up as quick as the
others. The cough held on, and I was pestered for breath, and I didn't
get back my strength; and what I ate didn't seem to fatten me up much,
for Master Fred says one day, laughing, 'Well, Old Star, we've saved
your skin and bones, and that's about all!' However, I got round again,
only my legs had a bad habit of giving way under me, without the least
bit of warning.
"Our Ada did all she could to keep me up, holding a tight rein, and
saying, 'Steady, Star! steady!' when she saw any signs of stumbling. But
trying to keep from it seemed to make me do it all the more, and down I
would come on my poor knees and spill those children out of the wagon,
like blackberries from a full basket.
"One day, after this had happened, master told our Ada she was not to
drive me any more, and before I had got over feeling bad about that,
there came some thing a great deal worse; for I was standing by the pump
in the backyard one day, and master and mistress were in the porch, and
I heard him tell her he had had an offer from Jones the milkman, to buy
me. 'Twould be an easy place, and he'd promised to treat me well, and
he'd about made up his mind to take up with it; for he couldn't afford
to keep a horse on the place that--well, I don't care to repeat the rest
of the speech. 'Twas rather hard on me, but I haven't laid it up against
master. Fact is, he had a deal to worry him about that time, for he was
disappointed in the wheat crop, and the heavy rains had damaged his
corn, and he was feeling mighty poor.
"But mistress was up in arms in a minute. 'What, sell Star!' says she,
'our good, faithful Star, who's been in the family ever since you were a
boy! and to Ki Jones to peddle milk round Skipton Mills and Hull
Station! O pa!' says mistress, says she, 'have we got down so low as
that? Why 't would break our Ada's heart, and mine too, to see Star
hitched to a milk-cart. Rather than have you do that, says she, 'I'll go
in rags, and keep the children on mush and molasses;' and she put her
apron to her eyes.
"'Well, well, don't fret!' says master,--and I thought he looked kind o'
ashamed,--'I haven't sold him yet I've a notion to turn him out to
grass a while, and see what that'll do for him,' So the next day he put
me in this pasture.
"You see that plank bridge yonder, over the creek? That's where our Ada
fell into the water. Master has put up a railing, and made all safe
since the accident happened. 'T was a risky place always, though the
children have crossed it hundreds of times, and none of them ever
tumbled over before.
"But I hadn't been here a week, when one sunshiny afternoon our Ada came
through the pasture, on her way to visit the sick Simmonses--there's
always some of that tribe down with the chills. She came running up to
me--her little basket, full of goodies, on her arm,--stopped to talk a
minute and feed me an apple, and then passed along, while I went on
nibbling grass, till I heard a scream and a splash, and knew, all in a
minute, she must have fallen off the plank bridge into the water. Dear!
dear! what was to be done? I ran to the fence, and looked up and down
the road. Some men were burning brush at the far end of the next field.
I galloped toward them, and back again to the creek, and whinnied and
snorted, and tried my best to make them understand that they were
needed; but they didn't appear to notice, and I just made up my mind,
that if any thing was done to save our Ada from drowning, I was the one
to do it.
"I made my way through the alder-bushes down by the bank, to a place
where the current sets close in shore. At first I couldn't see any
thing, then all at once, there floated on the muddy water close to me,
the little red shawl she wore, then a hand and arm, and her white face
and brown hair all streaming. I caught at her clothes, and though Ada is
a stout girl of her age, and the wet things added a deal to her weight,
I lifted her well out of the water. I remember thinking, 'If only my
poor legs don't give out, I shall do very well,' And they didn't give
out, for when help came--it seems those men in the field _had_ noticed
me, and came to see what was the matter--they found me all in a lather
of sweat, and my eyes starting out of their sockets, but with my feet
braced against a rock, keeping our Ada's head and shoulders well above
water.
"They got her home as quick as they could, and put her to bed between
hot blankets, and the next day she was none the worse for her ducking,
though she carried the print of my teeth in her tender flesh for many a
day; for how was I to know where the child's clothes left off and her
side began.
"Of course they made a great fuss over me. Mistress came running to meet
me, and put both arms around my neck, and said: 'O Star, you have saved
our darling's life!' and the little ones hugged and kissed me, and the
boys took turns rubbing me down; and I stood knee deep in my stall that
night in fresh straw, and besides my measure of oats, had a warm mash,
three cookies, and half a pumpkin-pie for my supper.
"But master only patted my neck, and said: 'Well done, Old Star!' Master
Fred and I always did understand one another.
"There hasn't been any thing more said about selling me to Ki Jones. In
the winter I have a stall at the south side of the stable, where I get
the sun at my window all day, and in summer I live in this pasture, with
shady trees, and cool water, and grass and clover-tops in plenty. I have
nothing to do the live-long day, but to eat and drink and enjoy myself;
but I do hope folks passing along the road don't think I'm turned out in
this field because I'm too old to work."
"Good-by, Old Star!" said Mollie, as her aunt laid down the paper. "We
are much obliged for your nice story, and we hope you'll live ever so
many years. I wouldn't hint for the world that you aren't as smart as
you used to be."
"Isn't he rather a self-conceited old horse?" said Nellie Dimock.
"Well, yes; but that is natural. I suppose he has been more or less
spoiled and petted all his life."
"When he told about going to meeting," Fannie Eldridge said, "it
reminded me of a story mamma tells, of an old horse up in Granby, that
went to church one Sunday all by himself."
"How droll! How did it happen, Fannie?"
"Why, he belonged to two old ladies who went to church always, and
exactly at such a time every Sunday morning Dobbin was hitched to the
chaise and brought round to the front door and Miss Betsey and Miss
Sally got in and drove to church. But one Sunday something hindered
them, and Dobbin waited and waited till the bell stopped ringing and
all the other horses which attended church had gone by; and at last he
got clear out of patience, and started along without them. Mamma says
the people laughed to see him trot up to the church-door and down to the
sheds and walk straight into his own place, and when service was over
back himself out and trot home again."
"What did Miss Betsey and Miss Sally do?"
"Oh, they had to stay at home. When they came out they saw the old
chaise ever so far off, going toward the church, and they felt pretty
sure old Dobbin was going to meeting on his own account. That is a true
story Miss Ruth, every word of it--mamma says so."
"Our old Ned cheated us all last summer," said Florence Austin, "by
pretending to be lame. He really was made lame, at first, one day when
mamma was driving, by getting a stone in his foot, and she turned
directly and walked him all the way back to the stable. But when William
had taken out the stone, he seemed to be all right, and the next
afternoon mamma and Alice and I started for a drive. We got about a mile
out of town, when all at once Ned began to limp. Mamma and Alice got out
of the phaeton, and looked his feet all over, for they thought may be he
had picked up another stone; but they couldn't see the least thing out
of the way, only that he limped dreadfully as if it half-killed him to
go. Well, there was nothing to be done but to give up our drive; for we
couldn't bear to ride after a lame horse!"
"I can't either!" Mollie interjected.
"Well, he had been lately shod, and our coachman thought that perhaps a
nail from one of the shoes pricked his foot, so he started to take him
to the blacksmith's. But don't you think, as soon as Ned knew that
William was driving, he started off at a brisk trot and wasn't the least
bit lame I but the next time mamma took him out, he began to limp
directly, and kept looking round as much as to say: 'How can you be so
cruel as to make me go, when you must see every step I take hurts me?'
But when mamma came home with him again, William said: 'It's chatin' you
he is, marm.'"
"And what did your mother do?"
"Well, as soon as she made up her mind that he was shamming, she took no
notice of his little trick, but touched him up with the whip, and made
him go right along. He knew directly that she had found him out. Oh, he
is _such_ a knowing horse! The other day Alice was leading him through
the big gate, to give him a mouthful of grass in the door-yard. Alice
likes to lead him about. When he stepped on her gown, and she held it up
to him all torn, and scolded him, she said: 'O Ned! aren't you ashamed
of yourself? how could you be so clumsy and awkward?' and she said he
dropped his head and looked so sorry and ashamed, as if he wanted to
say: 'Oh, I beg pardon! I didn't mean to do it,' that she really pitied
him, and answered as if he had spoken: 'Well, don't worry, Ned; it's of
no consequence,' Ned is such a pet. Papa got him in Canada, on purpose
for mamma and Alice to drive; and it was so funny when he first
came--he didn't understand a word of English, not even whoa. He belonged
to a Frenchman way up the country, and had never been in a large town,
and acted so queer--like a green countryman, you know, turning his head
and staring at all the sights. And it's lovely to see him play in the
snow. He was brought up in the midst of it, you know. When there's a
snow-storm he's wild to be out of the stable, and the deeper the drifts,
the better pleased he is. He plunges in and rolls over and over, and
rears and dances. Oh, it is too funny to see him! But I beg pardon, Miss
Ruth! I didn't mean to talk so long about Ned."
"We are all glad to hear about him," she said, and Susie added that it
was very interesting.
"My Uncle John owned a horse," said Roy Tyler, "that opened a gate and
a barn-door to get to the oat-bin, and he shut the barn-door after him
too. I guess you can't any of you tell how he did that!"
"He jumped the gate, and shoved his nose in the crack of the door and
pried it open," said Sammy.
"No, he didn't. That wouldn't be _opening_ the gate, would it?" Roy
retorted. "And how did he shut it after him?"
"I think you had better tell us, Roy," said Miss Ruth.
"Well, he reached over the fence, and lifted the latch with his teeth,
that's how he opened the gate; and he shut it by backing up against it
till it latched itself. Then he pulled out the wooden pin of the
barn-door, and it swung open by its own weight--see?"
"Well, pa had a horse that slipped his halter and shoved up the cover
of the oat-bin, when he got hungry in the night and wanted a lunch,"
said Sammy; "and I read about a horse the other day which turned the
water-tap when he wanted a drink, and pulled the stopper out of the pipe
over the oat-bin, just as he 'd seen the coachman do, so the oats would
come down, and"--
"But really now," Ruth Elliot, interrupted, "interesting and wonderful
as all this is, we must stop somewhere. I have another story to tell
you, about a minister's horse, but it can wait over till next week. Lay
aside your work, girls; it is past five o'clock."