"I wouldn't hurry him so much," interposed Mysie, her compassion
aroused both for beast and Youth. "I don't like to see a horse whipped
so much."

"Oh, you see, Ma'am, he's so used to it, he won't go noways without it;
feels kind o' lonesome, I 'xpect. It don't hurt him none, nuther; his
skin's got so thick an' tough, that he wouldn't know, if you was to put
bilin' tar on him."

"Do you feed your horse on oats, much?" inquired Caleb, gravely, after a
long and observant silence.

"No, Sir, we darsn't give him no oats, 'cause he'd be sure to run away;
doos sometimes, as it is."

"I don't think you need fear it to-day," replied Caleb, quietly, as he
settled himself into the corner, in the vain hope of a nap; but Youth
was now loquaciously inclined.

"Reck'n Dave was disappinted," said he, with a chuckle. "He meant to
kerry ye himself; but soon's I see him round, I says to myself, says I,
'Ole Chick, you sha'n't come it this time, if I go for nothin'.'"

"Competition is the soul of trade," drowsily murmured Caleb; but as
Youth turned to inquire, "Whossay?" the bag upon which he was seated,
and upon which, in the enjoyment of his triumph, he had been wriggling
somewhat too vivaciously, suddenly gave way, and a pair of snow-white
hose came tumbling out. They were at once caught and held admiringly up
by Youth, with the ingenuous remark,--