“I’se willin’ to help pull the empty wagon across the yard,” said Mistah Mule. “But after Farmer Green loads that heavy sack into it, I aims to stay right where I is.”
“What!” cried Ebenezer. “Are you going to balk? Aren’t you going to help draw your own corn home to the barn?”
There was a very surly look in Mistah Mule’s left eye, which was nearest Ebenezer, as he answered, “I doesn’t crave to do any work, even for my own self.”
Farmer Green now untied this strange pair, turned them around, and backed the wagon up to the gristmill door. Then he dumped the sack of corn into the back of the wagon, sat down upon the seat, picked up the reins, and said, “Giddap!”
“Now, don’t be silly!” said Ebenezer to his companion. “This load is nothing. We’ll have it in the barn before you know it.” And he started forward.
“I’se a person of my word,” Mistah Mule declared. And planting his forefeet firmly in front of him, he refused to budge from that spot.
VIII
A PIECE OF STRING
The old horse Ebenezer struggled forward, trying to pull both the wagon and his stubborn mate, Mistah Mule. But Farmer Green soon called, “Whoa, Ebenezer!” And then Ebenezer stood still.
Farmer Green sat upon the wagon-seat, looking down at Mistah Mule, when the miller, all white with flour, came to his door and peered out.
“What! Are you still here? I thought you had gone,” he said.