“Yes, I expect it would after this”—and she patted the mare’s sleek neck.
“A horse knows you, you see—and where you go wrong often he’ll go right—but a car, a machine, that’s got no sense nor kindness in it, and when you do the wrong thing there’s nothing that’ll save you.”
Jenny nodded. He warmed to his subject.
“Besides, you get fond of an animal in a way you can’t of a machine. This Madge, here. I’ve raised her from a filly, and when I take her out of the shafts she’ll follow me round the yard for a bit of sugar—and you heard her call to me just now when I came out? That’s her way. You may pay three thousand pounds for a Rolls Royce car but it won’t never say good evening.”
He laughed at his own joke, showing his big splendid teeth, and giving Jenny an impression of sweetness and happiness that melted into her other impressions like honey.
“Did she recognise you when you came back from the war?—You were in Mesopotamia weren’t you?”
“Yes—three years. I can’t say as she properly recognised me, but now I’ve been back a twelve-month I think she fits me into things that happened to her before I left, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I understand.”
He had been talking to her with his foot on the step, ready to get into his gig. Then suddenly he seemed to remember that she did not live at Starvecrow, that she too had a journey before her and no trap to take her home.
“Can I give you a lift, Miss Alard?—I’m passing Conster.”