said Mrs. Adams caressingly, as she rubbed the whip up and down
over his glossy side. "Well, he's a poor, tired old fellow with a
heavy load, so perhaps we'd better turn here and go home."

This proceeding met with Job's full approval. He had been walking
more and more slowly, as if overcome by the effort which he had
been forced to make, and seemed scarcely able to totter onward,
stumbling at every stone. But with the change of direction, his
life came back to him, and with a whisk of his tail and an
ungainly flourish of his hind legs, he started off at a trot,
turning neither to the right nor the left, but only intent on
reaching home and supper.

"There!" said Mrs. Adams in a tone of disgust; "when Job does that
I just want to whip him. He has played that trick on me over and
over again, and still I am always deceived by it. It isn't more
than two weeks since Polly and I were driving to the Glen, one
very warm day. It was a strange road, and all at once Job was
taken ill in such a queer way; he staggered and almost fell. Polly
and I were so frightened, for we thought he was going to die,
right then and there. We jumped out and walked along beside him,
leading him and petting him. The road was so narrow that we
couldn't turn him around, without going on ever so far; nobody was
in sight, and we were both of us just ready to cry from sheer
nervousness. At last we came to where we could turn him, and
backed him around as carefully as could be. What did the old goose
do but put down his head and give it the funniest sideways toss,
and then trot off towards home, leaving us standing there in the
road."