They carried some out to the horse, who swallowed it down very
quickly.

"That is just what he wanted," said Mrs. Peterkin; "now he will
certainly go!"

So they all got into the carriage again, and put in the currants and
the gooseberries and the flowers; and Elizabeth Eliza shook the
reins, and they all clucked; but still the horse would not go!

"We must either give up our ride," said Mrs. Peterkin, mournfully,
"or else send over to the lady from Philadelphia, and see what she
will say."

The little boys jumped out as quickly as they could; they were
eager to go and ask the lady from Philadelphia. Elizabeth Eliza
went with them, while her mother took the reins.

They found that the lady from Philadelphia was very ill that day,
and was in her bed. But when she was told what the trouble was,
she very kindly said they might draw up the curtain from the
window at the foot of the bed, and open the blinds, and she would
see. Then she asked for her opera-glass, and looked through it,
across the way, up the street, to Mrs. Peterkin's door.

After she had looked through the glass, she laid it down, leaned
her head back against the pillow, for she was very tired, and then
said, "Why don't you unchain the horse from the horse-post?"