“No, I suppose not,” said his father; “but the wagon will be better to bring stones, and sand, and shells. You must put baskets in behind, to pack them in.”
The next afternoon, all was in readiness at the appointed hour. The carryall was at the door, waiting to receive its portion of the party, and the wagon was fastened to a post behind. Jonas stood at the head of the carryall horse, to hold him still while the people should be getting in. Rollo was near the wagon horse.
“Shall I unfasten him, Jonas?”
“You can’t unfasten him,” said he.
“O yes, I can, if you will only let me try.”
Rollo approached the horse, and cautiously reached out his hands to unhook the chain from the ring at the horse’s mouth, standing a good way back, and leaning forward on tiptoe, as if he thought the horse would bite him.
“What are you afraid of, Rollo?” said Jonas.
“Nothing,” said Rollo; “only I can’t reach very well.”
“Stand up nearer.”