The lean man slowly lifted his head. “I was thinkin’,” he said, half to himself, “of a–a kind of horse’s prayer I once see in a harness-shop in Albuquerque.”
The other twisted himself under his blanket. “How did it go?” he asked, encouragingly. “Let’s all have it!”
The lean man arose. “‘To thee, my master,’ it started off,” he began, moving slowly toward his blanket. Suddenly he paused. “I–I don’t just seem to remember it all,” he said, and sat down and pulled off one of his boots. He held it in his hands absently.
The Professor urged him on. “Let her come,” he said, his face now hidden in the folds of his covering. “Shoot it–let’s hear.”
“‘To thee, my master, I offer my prayer,’” presently continued the other, turning reflective eyes toward the flickering coals. “‘Feed me, water me, care for me, and, when the–the day’s work is done, provide me with shelter and a clean, dry bed, and, when you can, a stall wide enough for me to lie down in in comfort. Always be kind to me. Talk to me–your voice often means as much to me as the reins. Pet me sometimes, that I may serve you the more gladly and know that my services are appreciated, and that I may learn to love you. Do not jerk the reins, and do not whip me when going up-hill. And when I don’t understand you, what you want, do not strike or beat or kick me, but give me a chance to understand you. And if I continue to fail to understand, see if something is not wrong with my harness or feet.’”
The Professor’s blanket stirred. “Go on!” he yelled. “Sounds all right. Go ahead! Is that all?”
“I disremember the rest,” replied the other. “Let’s see!” He was silent. “No,” he finally blurted out, “I can’t get it. It says something about overloading, and a-hitching where water don’t drop on him, and–Oh yes! ‘I can’t tell you when I’m thirsty,’ it goes on, ‘so give me cool, clean water often. Never put a frosty bit in my mouth; first warm it by holdin’ it a moment in your hands. And, remember, I try to carry you and your burdens without a murmur, and I wait patiently for you long hours of the day and night. Without power to choose my shoes or path, I sometimes stumble and fall, but I stand always in readiness at any moment to lose my life in your service. And this is important, and, finally, O my master! when my useful strength is gone do not turn me out to starve, or sell me to some cruel owner to be slowly tortured and starved to death; but do thou, my master, take my life in the kindest way, and your God will reward you here and hereafter. You will not consider me irreverent, I know, if I ask all this in the name of Him Who was born in a stable.’”
The Professor’s blanket stirred again. “Go on,” he demanded in muffled tones. “Is that all?”
The lean man slipped off his second boot. “No,” he replied, quietly, “that ain’t all.”
“Well, go ahead. It’s good. That horse must ’a’ been a city horse; but go on!”