“I don’t rightly know whose horse it is,” replied Mrs. Sparhawk; “the man that used to own it, he’s dead now.”
“But what,” inquired Mr. Brimmington sternly, “is the animal doing here?”
“I guess he b’longs here,” Mrs. Sparhawk said. She had a cold, even, impersonal way of speaking, as though she felt that her safest course in life was to confine herself strictly to such statements of fact as might be absolutely required of her.
“But, my good woman,” replied Mr. Brimmington, in bewilderment, “how can that be? The animal can’t certainly belong on my property unless he belongs to me, and that animal certainly is not mine.”
Seeing him so much at a loss and so greatly disturbed in mind, Mrs. Sparhawk relented a little from her strict rule of life, and made an attempt at explanation.
“He b’longed to the man who owned this place first off; and I don’ know for sure, but I’ve heard tell that he fixed it some way so’s that the horse would sort of go with the place.”
Mr. Brimmington felt irritation rising within him.
“But,” he said, “it’s preposterous! There was no such consideration in the deed. No such thing can be done, Mrs. Sparhawk, without my acquiescence!”
“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” said Mrs. Sparhawk; “what I do know is, the place has changed hands often enough since, and the horse has always went with the place.”