"But he has got to do it," said I, jerking the horse's head to one side and giving him a cut with the whip.
"Don't whip him," whispered Miss Burroughs; "it always makes him more stubborn. How glad I am I thought of the bells! The only way to get him to go is to mollify him."
"But how is that to be done?" I asked anxiously.
"You must give him sugar and pat his neck. If I had some sugar and could get out—"
"But you haven't it, and you can't git out," said Uncle Beamish. "Try him again doctor!"
I jerked the reins impatiently. "Go along!" said I. But he did not go along.
"Haven't you got somethin' in your medicine-case you could mollify him with?" said Uncle Beamish. "Somethin' sweet that he might like?"
For an instant I caught at this absurd suggestion, and my mind ran over the contents of my little bottles. If I had known his character, some sodium bromide in his morning feed might, by this time, have mollified his obstinacy.
"If I could be free of this blanket," said I, fumbling at the pin behind me, "I would get out and lead him into the road."
"You could not do it," said Miss Burroughs. "You might pull his head off, but he wouldn't move. I have seen him tried."