sweat streamed from their legs and flanks, their sides heaved, and every
muscle was strained, while the man, fiercely pulling at the head of the
fore horse, swore and lashed most brutally.

"Hold hard," said Joe; "don't go on flogging the horses like that; the
wheels are so stuck that they cannot move the cart."

The man took no heed, but went on lashing.

"Stop! pray stop!" said Joe. "I'll help you to lighten the cart; they
can't move it now."

"Mind your own business, you impudent young rascal, and I'll mind mine!"
The man was in a towering passion and the worse for drink, and laid on
the whip again. Joe turned my head, and the next moment we were going at
a round gallop toward the house of the master brick-maker. I cannot say
if John would have approved of our pace, but Joe and I were both of one
mind, and so angry that we could not have gone slower.

The house stood close by the roadside. Joe knocked at the door, and
shouted, "Halloo! Is Mr. Clay at home?" The door was opened, and Mr.
Clay himself came out.

"Halloo, young man! You seem in a hurry; any orders from the squire this
morning?"

"No, Mr. Clay, but there's a fellow in your brick-yard flogging two
horses to death. I told him to stop, and he wouldn't; I said I'd help
him to lighten the cart, and he wouldn't; so I have come to tell you.
Pray, sir, go." Joe's voice shook with excitement.