“I don’t understand it,” said the captain.
“Looks as if it had been galloped, father,” said Norman.
“Yes; but the others are all right, and it would not go off and gallop alone. Flies have worried the poor beast, I suppose.”
Meanwhile there had been no sign of Shanter. He had gone off in dudgeon and stayed away, his absence being severely felt in the house, for his task of fetching wood and water had to be placed in Sam German’s hands; and as this was not what he called his regular work, he did it in a grumbling, unpleasant manner, which very much raised Aunt Georgie’s ire.
“Shanter will come back soon, aunt,” Tim kept on saying.
“But he does not come back, boy,” cried Aunt Georgie; “and you boys will have to do his work, for I am not going to have that grumbling gardener to bring my wood and water. I must say, though, that it does make a good deal of difference in the consumption of bread.”
And still Shanter did not come back, neither was anything seen of him by the boys in their long stock-herding rides; while to make things more annoying the colt grew worse, and the captain complained bitterly.
“But I don’t think father ought to grumble,” said Rifle, one night when they were going to bed. “Everything else has got on so well. Why, we shall soon be having a big farm.”
“Yes,” said Norman; “but the colt was a pet, and he had given so much attention to it.”
They went to bed and all was quiet, but somehow Rifle could not sleep. It was a sultry, thunderous night, and at last he rose, opened the window, and stood to gaze out at the flashing lightning as it played about a ridge of clouds in the east.