"I don't like new things. They feel dangerous. You don't know what they'll bring."
"I thought you weren't going to make yourself miserable," he said. "Jump up, and we'll take home the fatted calf."
She hesitated. "I'm not going straight home."
"Let me deliver the calf, then."
"No, please; it isn't heavy." She went to the horse's head and stroked his nose. "I've never known his name. What is it?"
"Upon my word, I don't believe he has one. He's just the horse. That's what we always called him."
"'The horse'! How dreary! It makes him not a person."
"But the one and only horse!"
"I don't suppose he minds very much," she murmured. "Good-night, horse. Good-night, Zebedee. My basket, please. I'm very late."
"I wish you'd let me take you home. You oughtn't to go wandering over the moor by night."