“Oh, surely,” said Ethel, and so Minerva picked out a large apple and held it to the velvet nose of the poor old horse. He smelt it eagerly and opening his jaws took it in.
Minerva sat down in the grass of the roadside and fell to, herself, and for a minute, Ethel said, the three jaws crunched apple pulp noisily.
“Mis. Vernon?”
“What is it, Minerva?”
“How come a horse can eat when he’s standin’ up. Lyin’ the way he is now it’s easy because the apple kin go along level, but when he’s standin’ up how can it go way up in his head.”
“Why, he swallows it.”
“Yes, but how can he swallow up? We swallow down. If I was to stand awn my head I couldn’t swallow.”
She was silent a minute and then she said, “Go’n’ to try.”
And try she did.
There in the lonely road, with Ethel reclining so luxuriously on a horse-hair sofa, Minerva played circus and made a croquet wicket of herself and then tried to eat an apple.