Late in the afternoon a man hailed me from the door of a farm-house, "Come in and warm, and have a drink of cider." Now, if there was one thing in the world that tickled my palate, it was sweet cider, and I accepted a glass.
"Wouldn't your pard have a drink?" asked the generous man.
"Presume he would, if you offered it," I replied. "I never knew him to refuse any kind of a beverage, though this cider is pretty hard."
The farmer brought out a milk-pan; and that donkey drained the pan.
"Shall I give him some more?" asked the big-hearted soul. Mac stuck out his nose in mute response, so I said yes, provided he would not be robbing himself; it would probably put new vigor in the fatigued animal, and super-induce more speed.
"Got barrels of it, friend, barrels of it," said the Good Samaritan, who refilled the pan which Mac again drained. Then thanking the farmer, I steered my donkey on over the ice-bound highway.
larger
"Mac could draw my luggage instead of carrying it."