Mr. Smith looked up and saw old Whitey, who had turned about, and was reaching forward to get a nibble of the hay. Mr. Smith felt like being angry, but the old horse was walking so soberly and earnestly that he couldn't help laughing.
“That is some of Paul's doings, I know. I'll give him a blessing when I get back.”
It was noon before Mr. Smith reached New Hope. Paul and Bruno were sitting beneath the maple.
“Where did you find old Whitey?” Paul asked.
“You was the one who did it, you little rascal?”
“Did what?”
“You know what. You have made me walk clear to Fairview. I have a mind to horsewhip you.”
Paul laughed to think that the old horse had tramped so far, though he was sorry that Mr. Smith had been obliged to walk that distance.
“I didn't mean any harm, Mr. Smith, but old Whitey has made our door-yard his stamping-place all summer, and I thought I would see if I could get rid of him.”
“Well, sir, if you do it again I'll trounce you,” said Mr. Smith as he rode away, his anger coming up.