"I guess," answered the young man.
He blew elaborately on his hands, made belief to lick them, and bowed his back to the lifting. There were no weak spots in that young body. It was good all through.
Strong as he was tender, he gathered the little creature. A moment it sprawled helplessly in his arms, all legs and head. Then he bundled it into the barrow.
The old mare whinnied.
"Put the rug over her head so she can't see," said Mrs. Woodburn.
The foal stood a moment in the barrow, then it collapsed, lying like a calf with a woolly tail, its long legs projecting over the side.
Silver grasped the handles of the barrow.
"Is it all right?" asked Boy.
"I guess," replied the young man, and trundled his load away down the hill.
The girl walked beside the barrow, one hand steadying the foal, who reared an uncanny head.