“Oh, of course,” said Ethel. “I read that in a book.”
Minerva went off in an ecstacy of laughter.
“What are you laughing at, Minerva?” asked Ethel.
“I was wonderin’ how you’d get up to his head.”
“Why, Mr. Casey means if he falls down. Don’t you, Mr. Casey?”
“’Deed an’ I do. But he won’t fall down. He’s strarng as a horse an’ gentle as a—as a litter of kittens. He knows it’s a leddy behind him, an’ he’ll have plisant thoughts of you arl the way down. But don’t use the whip. After bleedin’ he’s a bit skitterful.”
We had had the horse several times at a pinch and Ethel knew that he always cautioned against use of the whip, although th’ould scut’s hide was as tough as that famous one “found in the pit where the tanner died.”
“You take the reins, Minerva,” said Ethel.
Minerva took them and pulled them up so tight that she almost yanked the horse into the wagon.
“Oh, he’ll never stumble. A loose rein an’ a kind worrd an’ th’ whip in the socket an’ll he go like the breezes of Ballinasloe. Good bye an’ God bless you.”