“He's falling into his dotage, I guess,” said the doctor privately to Zeke, as he prepared to ride away.
“Don't fool yourself,” returned the young fellow. “The mare pretty near scared me into a fit. My knees ain't real steady yet.”
He stood watching the disappearing figure of the veterinary. “That kid believes praying did it,” he mused. “I ain't going to believe that, of course, but the whole thing was the queerest ever.”
Mr. Evringham, after one more visit to the stall of Essex Maid, started back to the house, Jewel skipping beside him.
Mrs. Forbes remained in the barn, one hand still pressed to her ample bosom, a teakettle in the other.
“What'd you calc'late to do, ma?” inquired her son, approaching her.
“Wring out hot flannels. It's sense to treat colic the same, whether it's in a horse or a baby.”
Zeke laughed. “Essex Maid didn't think so, did she?”
“Wouldn't let us do a thing. I saw the tears drip out of Mr. Evringham's eyes plain as I see you now. Zeke Forbes, you'll never know what it was to me to have you come in and speak the way you did. You couldn't have done it if you'd mistreated the horse any way.”
“Thank you,” returned the coachman emphatically. “I ain't monkeying with buzz saws this year.”