“As I have touched your knee, so they have touched my thumb. Once, twice, thrice.”
Timoleon turned from the door, walked to the far end of his stable, and then returned.
“The grandchildren of the White-haired Master are wise,” he said.
“So it seems,” replied Aaron.
“Then let me touch them with my nose, so that hereafter I may know them.”
Aaron opened the door and Timoleon strode out. He had on neither halter nor bridle, and the children shrank and cowered behind Aaron.
“Son of Ben Ali, what does this mean?” asked Timoleon.
“It means that they are children who have heard that the Grandson of Abdallah is a savage beast,” replied Aaron.
Timoleon with lowered head went to the children and pressed his muzzle gently against the shoulder of each—against Buster John first, Sweetest Susan next, and Drusilla last. They were all frightened, but Drusilla’s terror was such that her face, black as it was, took on an ashen hue. To make matters worse, Timoleon snorted suddenly and loudly when he pressed his nose on her shoulder. She gave a piercing scream, and fell on the ground in a heap. Timoleon sprang back as though an attack had been made on him. It was all so comical that Aaron laughed, and Buster John and Sweetest Susan relieved the strain on their feelings by joining him boisterously—almost hysterically. Drusilla, hearing this, rose to her feet with anger in her eyes.
“I dunner what you-all white chillun laughin’ at. Ef you speck I’m gwineter stan’ flat-footed an’ let dat ar hoss bite de top er my head off, you done gone an’ fooled yo’se’f. I know’d what he wuz gwine ter do, time I seed de white er his eye. His breff hot nuff ter burn yo’ han’. What he want ter come doin’ dat a way fer? I don’t want no hoss ter be huggin’ me wid his upper lip nohow. I’ll tell anybody dat.”