“I say, master, what a bad un you do think me! I’d ha’ hated myself as long as I lived, and never forgive myself, if I’d done such a thing. Look ye here—my monkey’s up now, master—did yer ever know me ill-use the ’orses?”
“No, Ike,” said Old Brownsmith shortly.
“Never once. There’s the white, and I give it a crack now and then; but ask either Capen or Starlit, and see if ever they’ve got anything agen me. And here’s a man as never ill-used a ’orse, and on’y kicked young Shock now and then when he’d been extry owdacious, and you say as I tried to upset the load on young un here. Why, master, I’m ashamed on yer. I wouldn’t even ha’ done it to you.”
I felt sorry for Ike, and my sympathies were against Old Brownsmith, who seemed to be treating him rather hardly, especially when he said shortly:
“Did you fasten off that hind rope?”
“Yes, master, I did fasten off that hind rope,” growled Ike.
“Then, now you’re out o’ breath with talking, go and get your sleep. Don’t start later than twelve.”
Ike uttered a low grunt, and went off with his hands in his pockets, and Old Brownsmith came and laid his hand upon my shoulder.
“Pretty well bed-time, Grant, my boy. Let’s go in.”
I followed him in, feeling rather low-spirited, but when he had lit a candle he turned to me with a grim smile.