48 Farmer Thoroughgood and His Grandson Willie

           

           Atthissale,ofcourseIfoundmyselfincompanywiththeoldbroken-downhorses—somelame,somebroken-winded,someold,andsomethatIamsureitwouldhavebeenmercifultoshoot.

           Thebuyersandsellers,too,manyofthem,lookednotmuchbetteroffthanthepoorbeaststheywerebargainingabout.Therewerepooroldmen,tryingtogetahorseoraponyforafewpounds,thatmightdragaboutsomelittlewoodorcoalcart.Therewerepoormentryingtosellaworn-outbeastfortwoorthreepounds,ratherthanhavethegreaterlossofkillinghim.Someofthemlookedasifpovertyandhardtimeshadhardenedthemallover;buttherewereothersthatIwouldhavewillinglyusedthelastofmystrengthinserving;poorandshabby,butkindandhuman,withvoicesthatIcouldtrust.Therewasonetotteringoldmanwhotookagreatfancytome,andItohim,butIwasnotstrongenough—itwasananxioustime!Comingfromthebetterpartofthefair,Inoticedamanwholookedlikeagentlemanfarmer,withayoungboybyhisside;hehadabroadbackandroundshoulders,akind,ruddyface,andheworeabroad-brimmedhat.Whenhecameuptomeandmycompanionshestoodstillandgaveapitifullookrounduponus.Isawhiseyerestonme;Ihadstillagoodmaneandtail,whichdidsomethingformyappearance.Iprickedmyearsandlookedathim.

           “There’sahorse,Willie,thathasknownbetterdays.

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