The complete loss of sight proved a terrible cross to her. Unlike many horses, she never learned to move with confidence. She was nervous and timid; indeed, I think she had been beaten about the head until her hearing was defective, and then the cruelties that had filled her life had wrought upon her sensitive nature until she was nervous and distrustful. Many a day, and sometimes days at a time, she has gone without water because she could not find the tank. As I am here going to dismiss poor Topsy from my story, I will say that her master soon sold her and her colt. A few times since, I have seen her toiling along beside her mate, her sightless face wearing a blank, worried expression, and always that timid, frightened way with her. Once we had a little talk, and she told me that her life was a misery. She cannot learn to trust herself, and as she is only "Old Tops," no one takes any pains with her. She said her shoulders were all galled under her collar.
Despite the bad fortune of her life, though, she has still a slender, graceful form and a high-bred air.
Poor Topsy! Victim of man's power!
At the end of that year Chet and his family went away, and not long after Master found the coveted place for Carm.
It went against him to put the boy on the railroad, and a brakeman's life is none too desirable at best; but nothing else would do, and he had made a fair record at school.
Master was going to spend the winter in New York and I was to be left at home. Tommy went to school in town, and himself and a hired man they called Burr, did the work at the farm.
I say farm, though the town had grown quite to it, and a long distance along the east side of it. Vainly people tried to have the firm sell lots, but they said they wanted it all for themselves when they retired; but virtually we lived "in town."
Tommy was a much worse boy, in some respects, than either of his brothers.
He was underhanded and treacherous, keeping a fair outside to the world, and was counted by many a model youth.
His mother regarded him as such, and, in a manner, made Dr. Fred believe the same; but they were destined to a sudden awakening.
I suppose parents in general would consider it presumption for an old horse to advise them, but if they had heard as much talk among boys and young men as I have, they might be wiser than they are.
At any rate, I shall intimate that the wise parent will make sure whether his son goes to bed to sleep upon returning to his room, or whether it is only to keep still until the house is quiet, and then steal down the back stairs, or down the woodshed roof to spend the night in revelry.
Mrs. Wallace did not always breakfast with the family, but sometimes when she did I have heard that she noticed Tommy's pallor and worn expression, and chided him for studying so hard.
To others she expressed the opinion that the "dear child" was killing himself by close application, and she feared his mind would prove too much for his body. Bobby would laugh and tell her not to worry; that Tom would never die young on account of his goodness or smartness.
Well, it was a shock to me, one night about two o'clock, to hear Tommy's step in the barn and hear him call to Burr in a frightened whisper:
"Burr, Burr, get up and hide me somewhere; for Heaven's sake, hide me, I pray. I have killed a man and they are after me."
Burr, who slept in a little chamber right over my stall, was too dazed to do anything at first, but Tommy's terror was so real that he compelled himself to act.
Running down the stairs, he scratched away the straw that concealed a trap-door in the floor and bade him crawl in. Then he scattered the straw back and climbed to his room. He could not have more than reached his bed when hurrying feet and confused, angry voices sounded outside; then somebody opened the door and flashed a lantern into the barn.
"I know that he came home," said one, "and I think he headed for the barn."
"Well, if he is here, we'll have him dead or alive; it was a piece of cold-blooded crime, if ever there was one."
There must have been a dozen of them, and they rushed everywhere.
Presently part went to the house and the others routed Burr out.
The latter pretended to be very sleepy and wholly unable to understand what they meant at first.
He stoutly denied all knowledge of Tom, solemnly assuring them that he was not in the barn to his knowledge.
After searching everywhere, as they thought, they found their companions at the house.
I suppose that the women folk were terribly frightened. Burr followed to the house, and when he returned, after the searching party had seemed to go away, he told Tommy that his mother "just dead fainted away."
The doctor was gone for the night.
After awhile Tommy said he must go and see his mother, and be out of the country before daylight.
He started for the house, but never reached it in safety. Spies were lying in wait to grab him, and he was in handcuffs when his mother saw him. I wonder if she thought of Master's prophetic words of long ago.
I guess it is about so. Cruel children make cruel men, and if the former are allowed to be cold-blooded and murderous in their little world, the latter will likely be in their greater one.
Teach humanity to children is the advice of Dandy.
Tommy was put in jail, Burr said, to await trial, but somehow broke out and escaped.
Where he is now, I don't know, but some think his mother does. She was quite broken down with grief and shame after that dreadful event, and Dr. Fred was bitter against her because she had been so blind and indulgent.
"I am always so driven with business," he said, "but you have plenty of hired help, and nothing to do but to look after the children."
I think the family felt the disgrace keenly, and I know that Dr. Fred looked ten years older when Master came home than when he went away.
Then there arose another trouble. Bobby was keeping company with a man of whom her father did not approve.
The more she was opposed the more persistently she clung to her lover.
Dr. Fred took her with him a great deal, and once, when he drove me, I heard him entreating her to give the man—Paul Garret they called him—up.
"You are all I have left, daughter," he said, pleadingly, "and I can't bear to see you throw yourself away on that fellow."
"Mamma don't oppose me," pouted Bobby.
"Did she ever oppose any of my children when they were rushing to ruin, I wonder!" he cried bitterly.
"And you are entirely too young to think of marriage yet, anyway," he added. "I am willing to do anything for you; send you off to school, give you music, painting, anything you name, only give up going with, or even thinking of, that worthless fellow."
She kept so quiet all the rest of the way that I thought she was convinced and meant to yield obedience at last. It could not have been more than a fortnight after that, that I was startled one night by a hand on my head and Bobby's sweet voice whispering:
"Be a good boy, Dandy, and don't make a mite of noise."
What could it mean?
I knew Burr was away that night, and feared that something was wrong.
Silently she put a side-saddle on my back, and guided me out into the pale starlight, keeping well in the shadow of the barn.
Then mounting, she directed me down a back lane and through a side gate that stood open, though ordinarily it was closed. The moment we reached the highway, she gave the rein a little twitch, saying:
"Now, do your best, Dandy, we have a long journey before us."
The air was just keen enough to be bracing, and I had had no exercise for two days. And this reminds me to say that it is a mistaken kindness that keeps a healthy horse standing without exercise for days, or even one day. Nothing is more tiresome, and ofttimes hurtful. If you do not believe it, try standing in almost the same attitude yourself for a great many hours, lying down occasionally, if you can. I saw a handsome young horse once, with hoofs so abnormally grown and distorted (these are Master's words) from standing for months on a plank floor without exercise, that he could not step. So, nothing averse, I went flying over the smooth road until we came up with a dark figure mounted on a chestnut horse.
"Oh, Paul," Bobby said, "I've had the loveliest ride; and ain't this a romantic elopement?"
Elopement! I saw all then, and wished myself well out of the scrape.
Side by side they galloped on for several hours until I really began to feel jaded.
By-and-by, Bobby said: "I'll have to slow up; Dandy is getting tired, and I would not hurt him for anything. I know Uncle Dick will forgive me for running away, whether the rest do or not; but he'd never forgive me if I hurt this dear old Dandy."
I thought her voice trembled a little at the last.
They went along leisurely for a time after that, talking in low tones of their plans for the future.
Suddenly the ringing sound of horses' hoofs, flying swiftly over the way we had come, caused Bobby to utter a dismayed cry: "They are after us!"
"Nerve yourself for a race," the man, Paul Garret, answered, and the next moment he cut me with a small riding-whip. It was wholly unnecessary, for I had always loved to obey Bobby; but off we dashed like the wind. At first we distanced our pursuers without difficulty, as we were somewhat rested, but after a while they seemed to be gaining.
Paul cut me often with the whip, though I was doing my best, and I knew by the chestnut's breathing that he was cruelly spurring it.
Mile after mile we passed, until at last, just in the gray dawn, we were reined up beside a depot platform.
Quickly they dismounted, and, without even tying us, hurried into a train that was pulling out.
"So lucky," I heard Garret mutter, as they hurried across the platform.
It could not have been more than three minutes later when two men on jaded horses rode up, cursing the luck that the train they had tried so hard to catch was gone.
It had been no one pursuing the runaway couple after all.
We—the chestnut and I—were all of a tremble and dripping with sweat. The morning air seemed very cold, and we both felt chilly and wretched.
"What can we do?" said chestnut. "That fellow hired me last night, saying I would probably be at home to-day, but it don't seem possible to go back all that long way without breakfast, or water at least."
"But," I replied, "it is the only thing to do. We can't make folks understand, and, if we go wandering around, we'll be put in the pound. Besides, I am taking cold and getting stiffer every minute."
"So am I."
"We may as well start at once," and we started.
What a weary, weary way it was! One of my knees, too, had been sprained in that last mad race, and became momentarily more painful.
It was long past noon when I limped into our own lane. A pair of our horses stood at the gate, and a moment later Dr. Fred, with a face awful in its stern whiteness, came out of the house.
"The horse is ruined," he remarked tersely, looking me over, "but I don't know as anything matters much. Give him the best of care and nursing," he added to Burr.
The latter was a good hand with horses. "Poor Dandy!" he said, "I wish you could tell where you have been, and about the little mistress."
But I could not.
He gave me a warm mess, and while I ate it he rubbed me vigorously with a rough cloth, covering me afterward with a blanket for a little while.
My knee he bandaged with arnica, after bathing it a long while with warm water. Later he gave me water, a little hay and a good currying.
Toward night I became feverish, but a couple of doses of aconite corrected that. My knee has been weak ever since.
I learned from a conversation between Burr and his brother, who sometimes stayed over night with him, that Bobby left a note in her room saying that she had borrowed Dandy for a few hours; that she was going away with "poor, dear Paul." She preferred any hardship with him to life without him, and she hoped papa would forgive her.
Mrs. Wallace assured her husband that it was just what he might have expected when he opposed the match so violently.
"You ought to have remembered, too, that the girl is all Wallace, headstrong, conceited and quite above being rebuked."
"She has turned out as well as your Tommy," he answered, in a rage.
And so they relieved themselves by blaming each other, instead of kindly sharing their mutual burdens.
Dr. Fred refused to try to find the girl, and the matter was hushed up, though Burr said every tongue in town was wagging.
Had Master been home I think he might have saved Bobby. When he did come, his presence was like a benediction, and from that hour Dr. Fred has seemed to lean upon him more than ever.
Burr had been some miles from home of an errand one day. When he returned, he asked straightway for Master. He was literally trembling with excitement.
The moment Master came into the barn he burst forth:
"It beat all the horrible, dastardly tricks I ever see. Think of it, Dr. Dick, roasted a horse alive!"
"What? what do you mean?" cried Master.
"Well, I'll try and tell about it, though I'm completely cut up. You see, I was at Griner's, seeing about them potatoes, when little Jim Griner came running in, sayin' that Job Wells was burnin' of his balky horse alive.
"Griner and me jist lit out for Wells' place, but about a half a mile before we got to his house we came on the awfulest sight eyes ever see.
"There that poor, dumb brute stood just moaning with pain, but it appeared like he couldn't move, and from a dry brush fire, kindled right between his fore and hind legs, the flames were leapin' clean up around his body. Mercy on us, how the hair and flesh smelled!
"I jest pulled out my revolver and shot the poor critter dead, but I'll never forget the look in his face to my dying day, never!"
Master's indignation can better be imagined than described, as he hurriedly ordered a rig and hastened to have the inhuman wretch apprehended. There was a big time about it, but finally the fellow had to pay a heavy fine.
Master says that balkiness is, in truth, a disease, not a habit; that a horse's brain is so constituted that he can have but one idea at a time, and that, in a state of perfect health and comfort, no animal will balk; that there is some cause for it. If its mind can be diverted, it will always start on all right.
He says there are dozens of simple things that can be resorted to, and no harm be done to either man or beast.
I remember a balky horse that used sometimes to be in the livery barn in the city.
He said that when quite young he was often overloaded, and when he failed to pull they pounded him.
By-and-by, he said, it got so that, when loaded even moderately, he would get so nervous for fear he could not pull it and he would be pounded, that, in spite of himself, he would stop; and so it came about that the balkiness grew on him.
Another said he used to be balky until his present owner bought him, and that it came on him in much the same way as the other described.
Nervousness seemed to paralyze his limbs, and all he could think of was that he couldn't go, he knew he couldn't, and he might as well let them beat him first as last.
"After a while," said he, "this kind man bought me, but, of course, I did not know then that he was kind, and the first time he hitched me up I balked. I did not want to; indeed, I was anxious that he should think well of me, so anxious that it made me nervous.
"Naturally I expected a pounding, and when it did not come, nor anything else, I looked around to see what he was about. There that man sat on a stump whittling, and presently he began to whistle.
"I concluded I had made some sort of a mistake, and, while wondering what it all meant, my nervousness passed off, and when he said kindly: 'Well, Ross, are you ready to start?' I moved off briskly. Only once or twice since that have I balked at all, and then only for a minute. Master's voice is so kind and encouraging, and I know he won't require more of me than I am able to perform."
Burr says he has seen plenty of balky horses started by feeding them an apple or some little thing they particularly like, and I tell you honestly that we horses like dainties as well as anybody. Master must have spent dollars and dollars for the apples and candy he has fed me in my life. Another device Burr mentioned was lifting up one of the fore feet and tapping smartly on the shoe, and another, buckling a strap tightly about the knee. A man he used to work for had a span of balky broncos. They kept backing instead of standing perfectly still, so he would simply turn them around, and they would trot off well pleased. Of course, he could turn back again as soon as he liked. He never whipped them.
Kindness and patience will cure the worst case of balkiness existing; harshness only seats the malady more deeply, and horses can't help it.
Master and I were some miles from home on one occasion, when we heard a sound something like that made by a horse-power threshing machine, only sharper and more jerky.
"What is that?" Master asked of the man riding with him.
"A treadmill wood-saw, I call it. I don't know that that is its name."
As we came nearer we saw a sort of trap up in the air with a big wheel under it. The floor of the trap was quite a marked incline, and tied on there were two horses stepping, stepping, always stepping. Presently one of them stumbled and went down on her knees, struggling all the while to regain her footing.
Several times this was repeated, and they both looked so worn and worried.
The incline of the floor caused them to stand in a humped over and most trying position.
"I am afraid, if I were a horse, I would quit stepping and let the machine run down," said Master.
"Not after you'd had a few lessons," the man replied. "When they cease that motion, I have seen them flung clear out of the box. I saw one thrown in a regular somersault, and so badly injured about the head and neck that it had to be killed."
Master sat in the buggy until the machine stopped.
"How long do you usually run without resting?" he asked one of the sawyers.
"Two hours sometimes, and even longer."
"Why, man, it is enough to wear out cast-iron horses," he cried.
"They do get mighty tired," replied the fellow, coolly, "especially old Polly here, but you see she is stone-blind and about wore out anyhow, so it is all she's good for."
"And have you no feeling for a dumb brute, one that has served you well, too, but just to get what you can out of her? Do you never feel any pity for her, knowing that she is as susceptible to suffering as a human being?
"Have you ever tried to put yourself in her place, sightless, old, terrified and weak?"
"Naw," the man answered, doggedly, "she's only an old horse."
The other man was leading poor Polly from the trap now, and we could see that her legs trembled and her body was dripping with perspiration.
"There's gettin' to be lots of these machines," the fellow added, as in self-justification.
"So much the worse," said Master, "I'll see how such work will stand in law. But it seems to me you could save money by putting in a little engine instead of the horse power; one similar to those used on steam threshers, only so small that it is arranged on a common pair of bob-sleds, or on a wagon, and easily drawn about the country by one span of horses. Then all the latter have to do is to transport it, and you can saw enough more wood to soon pay for your engine."
The fellow looked interested.
"Have you seen one work?"
"Yes, dozens of them, and men are getting rich with them."
"One thing more, my man," Master added, as he turned to go, "you will find that the merciful, humane man will come out best in the end, not only in respect to the life that is to come, but in this one. Be kind to the dumb creatures and then you may hope that a higher power will deal kindly with you. 'As ye measure it shall be measured to you again.'"
In speaking of Bobby, Dr. Fred said he thought dime novels and lack of guidance on her mother's part was what had done the mischief; then, remembering how he had plead with her to give up Garret, he would harden again and add: "But she spurned my love, scorned my advice and entreaties, has made her bed, and now she must lie in it."
"Nay," but Master would urge, "she is so young, her mother encouraged the match, and then the reading matter you speak of finding in her room, was enough to turn any young, undisciplined head. You ought to forgive her, and seek her out the same as you would have done ten years ago, had she run away and got lost in the woods."
But Dr. Fred refused.
Quietly Master did his best to find her, but not a clew could he get, and a new turn was given to the thoughts of the household by the sudden death of Carm. "Crushed between two cars," the message said, and that was all until a tightly sealed casket came.
"Better not open it," was the advice accompanying.
Master and another physician did open it, though, but neither father nor mother were allowed to see the remains. Master came out to the barn with a face white and drawn, and, resting his arm on my neck and his head on them, he sobbed like a grieved child.
"Oh, Dandy, this is worse than all, worse than all! I wonder if he'll see his mother?"
"Much comfort children bring, judging from my own experience," groaned Dr. Fred at another time. "What a failure life is, anyhow!"
And I thought, "Yes, it is to men like you, who are trying to steer themselves through the world, and living for self instead of humanity. My master's life is not a failure."
A sorry day it was for brute creation when barb wire was introduced into general use on farms.
They put it around our pasture the first we knew of it. One bright morning John, Jean, Tim and Ball—a span of young horses—and myself were turned in, and, feeling the joyous freedom of unrestrained liberty (and, let me tell you, the oldest, most patient horse in the world feels worried and irritated by gearing, at times), away we went for a race, the young ones especially, rearing, kicking and plunging gaily.
Suddenly there was a crash, a frightened neigh of pain, a series of groans, and poor jolly Tim recoiled from his violent contact with the fence, blood pouring down his chest and forelegs.
Help soon arrived, and Tim was led away a very different looking animal from what he was when he entered.
Master washed out the wounds as well as he could, and applied a lotion made of one ounce calendula to three of soft water. He gave aconite to keep down his fever, and afterward cinchona as a tonic, and in time Tim was about as jolly as ever, though much more cautious.
The next thing that happened was Jean cutting herself on the hip, or rather, just in front of it, where the hip and abdomen join.
Master treated her as he had Tim, only he stitched the jagged edges of the wound together. It was in a place where it could not be kept covered successfully, and flies were bad; besides Jean continually reached back and worried it with her nose. For this they tied her short; then he made a lotion and a very few parts carbolic acid, just how many I do not know, but he tested its strength by touching a little to one edge of the sore. The acid, he said, would cleanse it and keep the flies out.
She got well, but an unsightly scar remained. Another horse laid his shoulder open, and for some reason it would not heal, and he died of blood poison in spite of all they could do.
I fancied that by being careful I was going to escape being impaled on the wretched barbs; but one day, when Mrs. Wallace was driving me, she became frightened at some loose horses, and jerked me into a wire fence by the roadside.
Well, one needs to be cut on a barb wire once to fully appreciate what it means. So many, many sad cases come to one's notice of horses and other domestic animals that are dragging out a miserable existence owing to the introduction of this "new invention." Sometimes it seems that everything is to the end of making man's life easier and that of the dumb brutes harder.
Master had all the barb-wire removed from this place long ago, supplying its place either with board, woven wire or lawn wire fences.
But bad as barb-wire is, it is nothing to the fad for the over-draw check-rein that is shortening the lives of horses everywhere, to say nothing of the torture they endure while they do live.
Why people use it I cannot imagine, for anyone with half an eye knows that it ruins the looks of a horse.
Master says that he, for one, will never presume to improve on the works of the Creator, who is far more artistic than man, and understands the science of beauty perfectly.
Many horses have told me, in tones from which all hope seemed gone, of the long hours of inexpressible torture they endure. They say, and I hear it told that the most eminent veterinary physicians in the world say the same, that the check-rein injures a horse from his head to his tail, from his shoulder to his hoof; it brings on disease and deformity. If a horse's neck has not naturally a fine curve, the rein is not going to remedy the matter. Forced curves are not elegant, and the most of the animals I have seen wearing it look like ganders when pursuing somebody.
Master said it was terrible to witness the mute agony of horses harnessed to fine carriages and sleighs, that he saw while East; and the worst of it is, they generally belong to people who call themselves Christians. Sabbath after Sabbath men and women kneel in the churches and pray for mercy, while their helpless servants stand without, suffering the extreme of torture. There is no mercy for them.
People go about trying to do good, with never a thought of the agony within reach of their hand that they might relieve.
Strange that intelligent, human beings should imagine for a moment that the continual champing of bits, twitching of the lips, and tossing of the head of an over-checked horse should mean "high life;" don't they know that they are the only protests that they can make against the cruel torture that they are enduring; the signs of pain; the mute entreaties for mercy?
Master says that if some people have it measured to them as they measure unto the helpless, there is a dreadful day coming; and he believes that many a man will make his bed in hell because of his treatment of God's defenseless creatures here.
Some young men, caught in a rain storm, came into our barn for shelter one day, and I am going to give a little of their conversation for the benefit of other sportsmen. These had been out hunting.
"Hi, Billy, but didn't that rabbit cut some antics after I got a pop at him?"
"Yes; why, he didn't seem to know nothin', jest come up 'nd looked a fellow right in the face with the blood all tricklin' down. He died game."
"You bet! Makes me think of one some of us caught in a trap once. One of its legs was broken, so we cut its throat and let go of it. Would you believe the pesky thing lived nigh on half an hour, hopping about on three legs all the time. It was fun to watch it perform!"
"Beats all how long some things hang on, anyhow. I shot a robin one day, jest fer fun. She fell right under a little tree, 'nd two days after I happened to be passing, and there she lay a-gaspin' yet, 'nd with life enough to flutter a mite when she saw me, 'nd give sort of a warnin' chirp. Lookin' up, I spied a nest 'nd four dead birds in it. I 'lowed then she was the mother 'nd the little ones had starved. I wrung the old one's neck, thinking I might as well finish the job."
"I've shot squirrels 'nd such things lots of times, 'nd when I couldn't find 'em easy, I'd go off, 'nd days after find 'em still alive, but too weak to get away."
"Well, it's fun to hunt when game is plenty, but this has been a mighty poor day."
"I like fishin' better."
"Say, ain't that Cramer a big fool? I went fishin' with him one day and will you b'lieve he would not string a fish till he'd killed it by running his knife through its spine at the back of its neck? Says a fish that dies ain't fit to eat, 'nd then it is inhuman to let anything die by inches. Cranky, ain't he?"
"I should say? Well, I ain't so particular; it's the fun of the thing I'm after. I don't care two cents for fish to eat."
Three years passed, and not one word from Bobby, and her name was seldom mentioned.
Life at the farm was quiet and uneventful. The doctors made their rounds of calls, Mrs. Wallace drove Jean or me out occasionally, and Burr carried on the work.
But at last there came a letter to Master which made him look grave and troubled. Often I saw him reading it, or perhaps he got others, but anyway pondering over a closely written page with a white, anxious face.
Dr. Fred, coming quietly into the barn one morning, caught him.
"What's up?"
A moment Master hesitated, then made answer:
"A letter from Bobby."
Fred paled and staggered a step.
"From Bobby!" he echoed, then paused.
"Yes, I have wondered whether any good could come of telling you; but now that it has come about, I will. I have been sending her money for three months past. Garret misuses her, I think, but she never says so; only 'I am heartsick and homesick, uncle, besides being laid up with neuralgia. Paul is not doing well just now, and Freddie (named Frederick Richard for you and dear papa).'"
Master had read these last lines from the letter, but here Dr. Fred burst out: "Where is my baby; my sweet Bobby? So she says 'dear papa,' and calls the boy Fred! Bring her home to my lonely heart and empty arms, Dick, and I'll bless you forever."
Of course, I don't know how it all came about, but one morning, some weeks after, Master led me out and set a tiny boy on my back. The little fellow laughed and prattled in an almost unknown tongue. When I got a look at him I saw that he was the picture of Bobby when she was of his age.
Presently a white-faced woman, looking as one might imagine Bobby's ghost would, came out, and, throwing her arms about my neck, wept violently.
"Dandy, dear old Dandy!" she said. For awhile she, her mother and the boy drove out often with me, but suddenly they stopped, and in a few days there was another one of those strange, sad processions where horses wear black plumes. I have seen many such, but this one—with Master looking unutterably sad—reminded me of that other one so long ago.
"Strange that all I love must die!" moaned Dr. Fred; and looking in Master's eyes I saw a look that seemed to say, "I might echo the same," but he only bore this trouble as he had all the others, smiling when his heart was sorest; brave when almost despairing; thinking of others before himself—this was Master.
And so the years have passed along, and I am, as I stated at first, an old horse, but, thanks to a kind master, I am neither broken down nor dispirited.
My teeth are quite bad, but that matters little so long as I am abundantly fed on ground feed; I am growing a little stiff in the legs, but my stall has an earth floor, kept scrupulously clean and dry and my bedding is fresh and abundant.
My eyesight is excellent, from having always stood in well-lighted barns and never having been pounded or otherwise injured about the head. My hearing is also perfect and my lungs good. My feet have been well cared for excepting in the case mentioned. In short I believe I am healthier now at thirty-one than are most horses of eighteen. I repeat what I have said before, in substance, a good master makes a good horse, inside and out.
If I might gain the ear of man for an hour, I could surely convince him that inhumanity is the poorest kind of business imaginable; that it is unprofitable for the life that now is and for the one that is to come; but as I can only stand here and tell my simple story, I will trust that some good angel will waft it far and wide, and that Master's God will impress the little lessons I fain would teach upon the hearts of all readers.
About the tragedy? Well, it was a sad affair, and seemed to me, at the time of its occurrence, the saddest thing that could happen; but I have learned since that sorrow untainted by sin is not the worst thing that comes into life, and that—as Master sometimes quotes:
You see, Master and my sweet young mistress, bonny, brown-eyed Annie Dee, were to be married on the morrow, and a few of the wedding guests were staying at the hospitable old Dee homestead. Railroads were not as plenty then as now, and he was to take her to his home behind the bays—you remember them?
I was going, too, because I belonged to Annie; we had never been separated more than one whole day in my short life, and she loved me dearly.
It is needless to add that I loved her as only an affectionate, dumb creature can love an indulgent owner.
"You are losing your roses, Annie, with the worry and excitement," her bosom friend, Ray Lyle, said; "let us have an hour in the air."
"Yes, a horseback ride," agreed my mistress.
"Only I am such a coward," said her friend.
"Never mind, you shall ride Dandy. I can manage Jackson."
And presently Master on Julie, another young man on Queen, my mistress on Jackson, a high-spirited creature, and Ray Lyle on my back, were flying over the smooth country roads. I don't know how it happened, no one seemed to, but Jackson suddenly became frightened, reared, and the next moment had flung his fair, sweet rider to the ground. Her head struck sharply against a small bowlder by the roadside.
Springing from his horse, Dr. Dick was kneeling beside her in a moment, but she lay limp and unconscious. They carried her home. After a time she opened her pretty eyes and whispered to Master:
"Keep Dandy for my sake."
After awhile she roused again, and smiling up into his stricken face she said:
"Meet me—I'll—be—waiting——"
She was gone ere the sentence was finished.
So you see Master's wedding is long deferred, but I know what he means when he says:
"She is waiting and I am coming."
Yes, she laid down the burden of life early, and by and by we will do the same—Master and I.
THE END.
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