“I think my horse must have a stone in his foot.”
“Oh!” he said, and was off in a moment, throwing the reins of his mount over its head and handing them to her.
“Which foot?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
He bent down and examined one hoof, then another, and so on for all four, without a word. Then, straightening up, he said, “I don’t see anything.”
He looked very serious and concerned. How “easy” he would be! “There really must be something,” she said. “He’s all in a lather.”
“There might be something deep in,” he answered, making his investigation all over again. “But I don’t see any blood.” (What a fine back he has! thought Sylvia.)
He stood up. “Let me see his mouth,” he said. “Are you sure you’ve not held him too tight?”
“I am used to horses,” was her reply.
“Some of them have peculiarities,” he remarked. “Possibly the saddle has rubbed——”