most appalling sound imaginable.

When I got out I found Mrs. Perkins at the door. She had heard the
racket, and had sped out to the stable, her only thought being of me and
three stove-lids which she had under her arm, and one of which she was
about to fire at the beast.

This made me mad.

"Go away, you unfortunate idiot!" I shouted: "do you want to knock my
brains out?" For I remembered seeing Mrs. Perkins sling a missile once
before, and that I nearly lost an eye by the operation, although
standing on the other side of the house at the time.

She retired at once. And at the same time the animal quieted down, but
there was nothing left of that peck measure, not even the maker's name.

I followed Mrs. Perkins into the house, and had her do me up, and then I
sat down in a chair and fell into a profound strain of meditation. After
a while I felt better, and went out to the stable again. The horse was
leaning against the stable stall, with eyes half closed, and appeared to
be very much engrossed in thought.

"Step off to the left," I said, rubbing his back.

He didn't step. I got the pitchfork and punched him in the leg with the
handle. He immediately raised up both hind legs at once, and that fork
flew out of my hands, and went rattling up against the timbers above,
and came down again in an instant, the end of the handle rapping me with
such force on the top of the head that I sat right down on the floor