Beautiful Joe [82]
to all the
other horses. She loves Fleetfoot and Cleve and Pacer. Those three are her
favorites."
"I love to go for drives with Cleve and Pacer," said Miss Laura, "they are so
steady and good. Uncle says they are the most trusty horses he has. He has told
me about the man you had, who said that those two horses knew more than most
'humans.'"
"That was old Davids," said Mr. Harry; "when we had him, he was courting a widow
who lived over in Hoytville. About once a fortnight, he'd ask father for one of
the horses to go over to see her. He always stayed pretty late, and on the way
home he'd tie the reins to the whip-stock and go to sleep, and never wake up
till Cleve or Pacer, whichever one he happened to have, would draw up in the
barnyard. They would pass any rigs they happened to meet, and turn out a little
for a man. If Davids wasn't asleep, he could always tell by the difference in
their gait which they were passing. They'd go quickly past a man, and much
slower, with more of a turn out, if it was a team. But I dare say father told
you this. He has a great stock of horse stories, and I am almost as bad. You
will have to cry 'halt,' when we bore you."
"You never do," replied Miss Laura. "I love to talk about animals. I think the
best story about Cleve and Pacer is the one that uncle told me last evening. I
don't think you were there. It was about stealing the oats."
"Cleve and Pacer never steal," said Mr. Harry. "Don't you mean Scamp? She's the
thief."
"No, it was Pacer that stole. He got out of his box, uncle says, and found two
bags of oats, and he took one in his teeth and dropped it before Cleve, and ate
the other himself, and uncle was so amused that he let them eat a long time, and
stood and watched them."
"That was a clever trick," said Mr. Harry. "Father must have forgotten to tell
me. Those two horses have been mates ever since I can remember, and I believe if
they were separated, they'd pine away and die. You have noticed how low the
partitions are between the boxes in the horse stable. Father says you wouldn't
put a lot of people in separate boxes in a room, where they couldn't see each
other, and horses are just as fond of company as we are. Cleve and Pacer are
always nosing each other. A horse has a long memory. Father has had horses
recognize him, that he has been parted from for twenty years. Speaking of their
memories reminds me of another good story about Pacer that I never heard till
yesterday, and that I would not talk about to any one but you and mother. Father
wouldn't write me about it, for he never will put a line on paper where any
one's reputation is concerned."
CHAPTER XXVI THE BOX OF MONEY
"THIS story," said Mr. Harry, "is about one of the hired men we had last winter,
whose name was Jacobs. He was a cunning fellow, with a hangdog look, and a great
cleverness at stealing farm produce from father on the sly, and selling it.
Father knew perfectly well what he was doing, and was wondering what would be
the best way to deal with him, when one day something happened that brought
matters to a climax.
"Father had to go to Sudbury for farming tools, and took Pacer and the cutter.
There are two ways of going there one the Sudbury Road, and the other the old
Post Road, which is longer and seldom used. On this occasion father took the
Post Road. The snow wasn't deep, and he wanted to inquire after an old man who
had been robbed and half frightened to death, a few days before. He was a
miserable old creature, known as Miser Jerrold, and he lived alone with his
daughter. He had saved a little money that he kept in a box under his bed. When
father got near the place, he was astonished to see by Pacer's actions that he
had been on this road before, and recently, too. Father is so sharp about
horses, that they never do a thing that he doesn't attach a meaning to. So he
let the reins hang a little loose, and kept his eye on Pacer. The horse went
along the road, and seeing father didn't direct
other horses. She loves Fleetfoot and Cleve and Pacer. Those three are her
favorites."
"I love to go for drives with Cleve and Pacer," said Miss Laura, "they are so
steady and good. Uncle says they are the most trusty horses he has. He has told
me about the man you had, who said that those two horses knew more than most
'humans.'"
"That was old Davids," said Mr. Harry; "when we had him, he was courting a widow
who lived over in Hoytville. About once a fortnight, he'd ask father for one of
the horses to go over to see her. He always stayed pretty late, and on the way
home he'd tie the reins to the whip-stock and go to sleep, and never wake up
till Cleve or Pacer, whichever one he happened to have, would draw up in the
barnyard. They would pass any rigs they happened to meet, and turn out a little
for a man. If Davids wasn't asleep, he could always tell by the difference in
their gait which they were passing. They'd go quickly past a man, and much
slower, with more of a turn out, if it was a team. But I dare say father told
you this. He has a great stock of horse stories, and I am almost as bad. You
will have to cry 'halt,' when we bore you."
"You never do," replied Miss Laura. "I love to talk about animals. I think the
best story about Cleve and Pacer is the one that uncle told me last evening. I
don't think you were there. It was about stealing the oats."
"Cleve and Pacer never steal," said Mr. Harry. "Don't you mean Scamp? She's the
thief."
"No, it was Pacer that stole. He got out of his box, uncle says, and found two
bags of oats, and he took one in his teeth and dropped it before Cleve, and ate
the other himself, and uncle was so amused that he let them eat a long time, and
stood and watched them."
"That was a clever trick," said Mr. Harry. "Father must have forgotten to tell
me. Those two horses have been mates ever since I can remember, and I believe if
they were separated, they'd pine away and die. You have noticed how low the
partitions are between the boxes in the horse stable. Father says you wouldn't
put a lot of people in separate boxes in a room, where they couldn't see each
other, and horses are just as fond of company as we are. Cleve and Pacer are
always nosing each other. A horse has a long memory. Father has had horses
recognize him, that he has been parted from for twenty years. Speaking of their
memories reminds me of another good story about Pacer that I never heard till
yesterday, and that I would not talk about to any one but you and mother. Father
wouldn't write me about it, for he never will put a line on paper where any
one's reputation is concerned."
CHAPTER XXVI THE BOX OF MONEY
"THIS story," said Mr. Harry, "is about one of the hired men we had last winter,
whose name was Jacobs. He was a cunning fellow, with a hangdog look, and a great
cleverness at stealing farm produce from father on the sly, and selling it.
Father knew perfectly well what he was doing, and was wondering what would be
the best way to deal with him, when one day something happened that brought
matters to a climax.
"Father had to go to Sudbury for farming tools, and took Pacer and the cutter.
There are two ways of going there one the Sudbury Road, and the other the old
Post Road, which is longer and seldom used. On this occasion father took the
Post Road. The snow wasn't deep, and he wanted to inquire after an old man who
had been robbed and half frightened to death, a few days before. He was a
miserable old creature, known as Miser Jerrold, and he lived alone with his
daughter. He had saved a little money that he kept in a box under his bed. When
father got near the place, he was astonished to see by Pacer's actions that he
had been on this road before, and recently, too. Father is so sharp about
horses, that they never do a thing that he doesn't attach a meaning to. So he
let the reins hang a little loose, and kept his eye on Pacer. The horse went
along the road, and seeing father didn't direct