“He's a lazy ole pup,” replied the little boy, his wet eyes catching and reflecting the stranger's smile. “He's spilt!” Then he crowded his little fists into his eyes to remove the traces of weakness with which he had been taken unawares.
“Do you reckon,” he said, “that both of us could put the corn on him if we lifted together?”
“I think so,” replied the man; “at least we will try.”
He took up the piece of yellow carpet and laid it over the ox's back. Then he stooped down, put his arms around the sack, linking his fingers together under it. The little boy took hold of the corner. The man raised the sack with scarcely an effort, the child contributing his tiny might. Then, as though the child's help were essential to the task, he nodded.
“Now,” he said, and with a swing lifted the sack onto the ox's back.
The boy straightened up, and put both little hands on his hips. His face was now radiant.
“We got it up all right, didn't we?” he said, “both a-liftin'; an' now,” he paused and regarded the ox with some concern, “I've got to git on somehow-er-nuther.” The ordinary man would then have lifted the child and set him on the ox, but this man did not. He seemed to know and regard that self-reliance which was so dear a thing to this child. He stood back and looked over the patriarch.
“Berry is a big ox,” he said. “We will lead him up to the bank.”
The little boy walked across the road, with a bit of a swagger.
“Yes,” he said, “Berry's a big ox.”