"In which half do you place me?" I asked.
"You? oh, I forgot; I was to teach you topography. I will assign you by and by, after you have had a few lessons."
"A man ought to do as well as a horse, so I hope to win your favor."
"I wish all men did as well as Mr. Yocomb's horses. They evidently feel they have the family name and respectability to keep up. Mr. Yocomb, what is it that smells so sweetly?"
"That is the red-top clover we cut last week."
"Oh, isn't it good? I wouldn't mind having some myself," and she snatched down a fragrant handful from the mow. "Here, Old Plod," she said, turning to the plow-horse, "the world has rather snubbed you, as it has honest worth before. Mr. Yocomb, you and Reuben are much too fond of gay horses."
"Shall I tell Reuben that thee'd rather ride after Old Plod, as thee calls him?"
"No, I thank you; I'll go on as I've begun. I'm not changeable."
"Now, Friend Morton, is not Emily Warren as bad as I am about gay horses?"
"I'm inclined to think she is about as bad as you are in all respects."