MR. STIVER'S HORSE

BY JAMES MONTGOMERY BAILEY


The other morning at breakfast Mrs. Perkins observed that Mr. Stiver, in
whose house we live, had been called away, and wanted to know if I would
see to his horse through the day.

I knew that Mr. Stiver owned a horse, because I occasionally saw him
drive out of the yard, and I saw the stable every day,--but what kind of
a horse I didn't know. I never went into the stable, for two reasons: in
the first place, I had no desire to; and, secondly, I didn't know as the
horse cared particularly for company.

I never took care of a horse in my life; and, had I been of a less
hopeful nature, the charge Mr. Stiver had left with me might have had a
very depressing effect; but I told Mrs. Perkins I would do it.

"You know how to take care of a horse, don't you?" said she.

I gave her a reassuring wink. In fact, I knew so little about it that I
didn't think it safe to converse more fluently than by winks.

After breakfast I seized a toothpick and walked out towards the stable.
There was nothing particular to do, as Stiver had given him his