I have often wondered whether a horse has a sense of humor. I know a
boy has, and I very strongly suspect that the horse has. It was one
of my tasks in boyhood to take the horses down to the creek for
water. Among others we had a roan two-year-old colt that we called
Dick, and even yet I think of him as quite capable of laughter at
some of his own mischievous pranks. One day I took him to water,
dispensing with the formalities of a bridle, and riding him down
through the orchard with no other habiliments than a rope halter. In
the orchard were several trees of the bellflower variety, whose
branches sagged near to the ground. Dick was going along very
decorously and sedately, as if he were studying the golden text or
something equally absorbing, when, all at once, some spirit of
mischief seemed to possess him and away he bolted, willy-nilly, right
under the low-hanging branches of one of those trees. Of course, I
was raked fore and aft, and, while I did not imitate the example of
Absalom, I afforded a fairly good imitation, with the difference
that, through many trials and tribulations, I finally reached the
ground. Needless to say that I was a good deal of a wreck, with my
clothing much torn and my hands and face not only much torn but also
bleeding. After relieving himself of his burden, Dick meandered on
down to the creek in leisurely fashion, where I came upon him in due
time enjoying a lunch of grass.

Walking toward the creek, sore in body and spirit, I fully made up my
mind to have a talk with that colt that he would not soon forget. He
had put shame upon me, and I determined to tell him so. But when I
came upon him looking so lamblike in his innocence, and when I
imagined that I heard him chuckle at my plight, my resolution
evaporated, and I realized that in a trial of wits he had got the
better of me. Moreover, I conceded right there that he had a right