“Ole hoss, you’re right!” he snorted as he leaped aside. “I declare these is the queerest hornets I ever did see.”
VII
A BALKY PARTNER
Farmer Green tied Mistah Mule and the old horse Ebenezer to the fence beside the gristmill and went inside the old gray building to talk with the miller.
While he was gone, Mistah Mule took great pains to keep a safe distance from the wagon-pole. He scolded Ebenezer when that mild fellow moved the pole even as little as an inch toward his companion.
“I’se been stung three times,” Mistah Mule grumbled. “I doesn’t care to be stung agin.”
“I can’t stand perfectly still and let the flies bite me,” Ebenezer retorted. “I have to stamp once in a while, to drive them away.”
“Flies!” Mistah Mule sniffed. “I doesn’t mind flies bitin’ me. It’s hornets I objects to.”
Old Ebenezer couldn’t help thinking what a dull fellow Mistah Mule was. It hadn’t once occurred to him that what he called hornet-stings was caused by the pricks of the sharp tacks which Farmer Green had fastened to the wagon-pole in order to teach Mistah Mule to stay where he belonged.
In a few minutes Farmer Green appeared in the wide doorway of the gristmill, dragging a heavy sack, which he dropped at the threshold. Then he leaped down upon the ground and walked toward Mistah Mule and Ebenezer.
“There’s your corn that you’ve been wanting,” Ebenezer told Mistah Mule. “Farmer Green is going to drive us up to the doorway and load the sack into the wagon.”