“How many times have I told you he is the gentlest horse I ever knew?” sighed the grandfather. “Ah, what a magnificent creature he is! What a pity he is penned on this plantation!”
Three times around the circle Timoleon galloped, and then wheeled toward the gate that led to the stable lot. The children waved a mock farewell to the still astonished spectators, who, standing on the veranda, heard Timoleon go clattering to the rear of the house.
The mother recovering from her fright, which was serious, became very angry, and this was not serious at all.
“That is Aaron’s work,” she cried, “and the children shall never go about him any more.”
“Aaron will thank you, if you’ll stick to your word,” said the grandfather. “I bought Aaron fifteen years ago, and I have never had occasion to undo anything he has ever done. I owe him a debt of gratitude that I could never repay if I were to live a thousand years.”
“I know, father—I know,” replied the children’s mother, more gently. “But he gave me a terrible fright just now.”
Timoleon galloped to his stable, and stood there waiting for Aaron. Sweetest Susan, holding to Buster John’s hand, slid to the ground, and then Buster John followed suit.
“You might take the halter off, little one,” said Timoleon, and he held his head so that the youngster could unbuckle the strap. Then the horse began to graze as contentedly as any farm animal. Presently Aaron came with a bucket of cool water from the spring. Timoleon buried his nose in it, drank his fill, and then washed his mouth by sucking up the water and letting it run out over his tongue and teeth. Then the blanket was removed and the Grandson of Abdallah stretched himself on the warm grass and had a good wallow. After that Aaron rubbed him off thoroughly, gave him a bait of oats, and, while he ate, went over his silky coat with a currycomb and brush, whistling all the while in a peculiar way.