It was quite true. If ever an equine countenance expressed shame and regret, that of the now humbled Kinks did so at that moment.
Probably it was the first time in their lives that the people in that wondering crowd had ever thought whether a horse was capable of facial expression; and it gave them food for reflection. Either their own eyes deceived them, or the stranger child was a “witch,” or—a horse did have emotions,—and showed them.
“Now, you won’t be naughty and unkind to him, will you,—just because he didn’t behave p’lite for once?”
“I—I’m not naughty. He’s nothing but a horse, and I’m folks. I know things.”
“So does he. He knows more’n you or I do; an’ he didn’t have to go to school, neither.”
“You’re an awful funny girl.”
“So are you. Say, shall I get off? Will you ride him alone?”
“No—no! Stay on. If you will, I won’t get off at all. I’ll ride all the way home. Will you?”
“May I? ‘Sta buen’ [that is good]! But move back. I’m sitting horrid.”
“Won’t I fall off?”