The Widow Simpkins had bought this horse of Deacon Atkins, apparently a fairly well-appointed brute, and capable as he was good-looking. A short, easy drive, when the deacon held the reins, had shown off his points to advantage; and the widow's small stock of ready savings had come forth freely in payment for what she thought was a bargain. When, soon after coming into possession, she discovered that her horse, if driven with any haste, panted in a fearful manner, and that he appeared to be growing lame, she waxed wroth, and went to the deacon in anger, to be met only with the smooth reminder that the animal was all right when she took him; that she had seen him tried herself. The widow was of a nature somewhat spicy, and expressed herself warmly: “It's a cheat and a shame, and I 'll take the law on ye!”
“What law will you take?” said the unmoved deacon. “Wasn't it a fair bargain?”
“I 'll take the law of God,” said the widow with impotent indignation; and she departed to pour her cares and trials into the ever ready ear of Sam. Having assumed the care of the animal, he now sat contemplating it in a sort of trance of melancholy reflection.
“Why, boys!” he broke out, “why didn't she come to me afore she bought this crittur? Why, I knew all about him! That 'are crittur was jest ruined a year ago last summer, when Tom, the deacon's boy there, come home from college. Tom driv him over to Sherburn and back that 'are hot Fourth of July. 'Member it, 'cause I saw the crittur when he come home. I sot up with Tom takin' care of him all night. That 'are crittur had the thumps all night, and he hain't never been good for nothin' since. I telled the deacon he was a gone hoss then, and wouldn't never be good for nothin'. The deacon, he took off his shoes, and let him run to pastur' all summer, and he's ben a-feedin' and nussin' on him up; and now he's put him off on the widder. I wouldn't 'a' thought it o' the deacon! Why, this hoss 'll never be no good to her! That 'are's a used-up crittur, any fool may see! He 'll mabbe do for about a quarter of an hour on a smooth road; but come to drive him as a body wants to drive, why, he blows like my bellowsis; and the deacon knew it—must 'a' known it!”
“Why, Sam!” we exclaimed, “ain't the deacon a good man?”
“Wal, now, there's where the shoe pinches! In a gin'al way the deacon is a good man—he's con-sid'able more than middlin' good: gin'ally he adorns his perfession. On most p'ints I don't hev nothin' agin the deacon; and this 'ere ain't a bit like him. But there 'tis! Come to hosses, there's where the unsanctified natur' comes out. Folks will cheat about hosses when they won't about 'most nothin' else.” And Sam leaned back on his cold forge, now empty of coal, and seemed to deliver himself to a mournful train of general reflection. “Yes, hosses does seem to be sort o' unregenerate critturs,” he broke out: “there's suthin' about hosses that deceives the very elect. The best o' folks gets tripped up when they come to deal in hosses.”
“Why, Sam, is there any thing bad in horses?” we interjected timidly.
“'Tain't the hosses, boys,” said Sam with solemnity. “Lordy massy! the hosses is all right enough! Hosses is scriptural animals. Elijah went up to heaven in a chari't with hosses; and then all them lots o' hosses in the Ravelations,—black and white and red, and all sorts o' colors. That 'are shows hosses goes to heaven; but it's more'n the folks that hev 'em is likely to, ef they don't look out.
“Ministers, now,” continued Sam in a soliloquizing vein—“folks allers thinks it's suthin' sort o' shaky in a minister to hev much to do with hosses,—sure to get 'em into trouble. There was old Parson Williams of North Billriky got into a drefful mess about a hoss. Lordy massy! he warn't to blame, neither; but he got into the dreffulest scrape you ever heard on—come nigh to unsettlin' him.”
“O Sam! tell us all about it,” we boys shouted, delighted with the prospect of a story.