The last turn in the road is a few rods north of our house, and James guided the horses skilfully round that turn and stopped them in front of our house. This was partly because Minerva, having fainted, was no longer screaming, and partly because John’s horse had stumbled and thrown him. And the minister came in second, his horse panting.
“James,” said I indignantly, “what do you mean by driving those horses at such a gait?”
James, when the horses had stopped, had sprung from the seat and was now at their heads talking in a low voice to them and patting them in order to calm them.
Minerva came to herself, said “Oh Lawdy! Are we back again, already?” and climbed ungracefully out of the carriage.
The horses were white with lather, their tongues lolling out of their mouths; and the wagon was sadly scratched. It was a mortifying moment for a liver of the simple life.
“James, what happened?” said I, sternly.
And then John came limping up, with a flesh wound on his forehead and shaking his fist at James, and with his cockaded hat in his hand said to Mrs. Guernsea, “I met him trying to run away with the horses ma’am, and I tried to stop him. The cheek of him, ma’am!”
James gave a contemptuous grunt, and leaving the horses, who had calmed down wonderfully under his ministrations, he pointed to a cut on the flank of the nigh horse.
“That’s what started the trouble, madam,” said he, “and it was your driver that threw the stone.”
I will say for Mrs. Guernsea, that she behaved like a thoroughbred. She was evidently a woman who reasoned things out, and she knew something of the principles of the simple life, for she said: