The Squire laughed, and obeyed her, saying, “Why, bless my soul, Amabel, I think you grow heavier every day.”
Amabel came up crimson from some disposal of the shawl after her own ideas, and her eyes twinkled as he spoke, though her fat cheeks kept their gravity. It was not till they were far on their way that a voice from below the seat cried, “Yap!”
“Why, there’s one of the dogs in the carriage,” said the Squire.
On which, clinging to one of his arms and caressing him, Amabel confessed, “It’s only the pug, dear daddy. I brought him in under the shawl. I did so want him to have a treat too. And grandmamma is so hard! She hardly thinks I ought to have treats, and she never thinks of treats for the dogs.”
The Squire only laughed, and said she must take care of the dog when they got to the town; and Amabel was encouraged to ask if she might take off the Shetland veil. Hesitating between his fear of Amabel’s catching cold, and a common-sense conviction that it was ludicrous to dress her according to her invalid mother’s susceptibilities, the Squire was relieved from the responsibility of deciding by Amabel’s promptly exposing her rosy cheeks to the breeze, and they drove on happily to the town. The Squire had business with the Justices, and Amabel was left at the Crown. When he came back, Amabel jumped down from the window and the black blind over which she was peeping into the yard, and ran up to her father with tears on her face.
“Oh, daddy!” she cried, “dear, good daddy! I don’t want you to buy me a donkey, I want you to buy me a horse.”
“That’s modest!” said the Squire; “but what are you crying for?”
“Oh, it’s such a poor horse! Such a very old, poor horse!” cried Amabel. And from the window Mr. Ammaby was able to confirm her statements. It was the Cheap Jack’s white horse, which he had been trying to persuade the landlord to buy as a cab-horse. More lean, more scarred, more drooping than ever, it was a pitiful sight, now and then raising its soft nose and intelligent eyes to the window, as if it knew what a benevolent little being was standing on a slippery chair, with her arms round the Squire’s neck, pleading its cause.
“But when I buy horses,” said the Squire, “I buy young, good ones, not very old and poor ones.”
“Oh, but do buy it, daddy! Perhaps it’s not had enough to eat, like that kitten I found in the ditch. And perhaps it’ll get fat, like her; and mamma said we wanted an old horse to go in the cart for luggage, and I’m sure that one’s very old. And that’s such a horrid man, like hump-backed Richard. And when nobody’s looking, he tugs it, and beats it. Oh, I wish I could beat him!” and Amabel danced dangerously upon the horsehair seat in her white gaiters with impotent indignation. The Squire was very weak when pressed by his daughter, but at horses, if at any thing, he looked with an eye to business. To buy such a creature would be ludicrous. Still, Amabel had made a strong point by what Lady Louisa had said. No one, too, knew better than the Squire what difference good and bad treatment can make in a horse, and this one had been good once, as his experienced eye told him. He said he “would see,” and strolled into the yard.