XX
THE LOAD OF HAY
If Mistah Mule hadn’t at last overtaken a load of hay in the road, there’s no telling when he would have slackened his pace. It wasn’t because Johnnie Green tugged on the reins and cried, “Whoa! Whoa!” that Mistah Mule fell into a walk. No! It was because he wanted some of that hay. He followed close behind the load, reaching forward now and then to snatch a mouthful.
Though Mistah Mule was enjoying himself hugely, his driver, Johnnie Green, was anything but happy. He felt almost as if he were stealing hay himself. Of course, the driver ahead of him knew nothing of what was going on behind his back. Perched far forward on his load, he could see neither Mistah Mule nor Johnnie, nor even Farmer Green and the bay, who soon caught up with the odd procession and plodded on at its rear.
So they finally reached the village. When the driver of the hay-wagon drove upon the platform of the hay scales in front of the village store, and stopped, Mistah Mule stopped too.
Farmer Green tied the bay to a post at the edge of the wooden sidewalk. Then he did his errand at the store—the errand that Johnnie Green would have done hours before, if Mistah Mule hadn’t balked on the hill.
When Farmer Green came out of the store he looked sharply at Mistah Mule’s feet.
“He has lost a shoe,” he said. “I’ll drive him to the blacksmith’s shop to have him shod. And I’ll leave you there, Johnnie, to come home alone later, for I can’t wait. I ought to be in the hayfield this very minute.”
When they reached the blacksmith’s shop Mistah Mule behaved beautifully. As he stood with his halter-strap tied to an iron ring on the wall, nobody noticed what he said to old dog Spot.
“They’s goin’ to be fun here,” Mistah Mule remarked.
“You’d better be good,” the old dog growled. “The blacksmith knows how to handle rascals like you.”
Meanwhile Farmer Green was talking with the blacksmith himself.
“I can’t wait while you shoe my mule,” he explained. “If you’re gentle with him I don’t believe he’ll make any trouble. He kicked when I first brought him home. But he’s well-mannered enough now—except that he balks once in a while.”
Farmer Green hadn’t been gone five minutes when Mistah Mule lashed out with his heels and sent a tin pail crashing against a cobweb-covered window.
Dodging the pail, Johnnie Green fell into a tub of water. The blacksmith shouted at Mistah Mule. And old dog Spot barked noisily.
“A bee done ’lighted on me,” Mistah Mule remarked with a grin.