The prospect was so cheering that Joe actually snapped the whip at the "trotter" who was meditating with his head between his knees. Jack, however, did not increase his gait, but plodded on. It was bitter cold, and Joe had to exercise himself to keep warm. It was afternoon when the laden cart entered the city. Hungry Jack had stopped twice, and gazed around at his master in dumb reproach. Joe was hungry, too; so he hurried into a square, in the business part of the city, covered his pet with an old quilt, and giving him his food, went to dispose of his cargo. But Joe's purchasers had gone to dinner, so he returned, mounted the cart, and began upon his own lunch.
"Now, if they don't want my stuff, my wife's 'presentiment' 's gone up," said the elegant Joe, "and I've had this cold trip for nothing."
Just here a remarkable event occurred. Jack suddenly threw up his meditative head, shied, and stood upon his hind-legs.
"Hey there!" cried his master, delighted at this token of life. "Yer a trotter, after all?"
"Yer old nag scart, mister?" asked several small boys, who hovered about.
"He's a leetle lively!" said Joe, proudly. "Keep clear of his heels, boys."
Jack subsided, but eyed a pile of boxes in a court on the left.
"What ails ye, Jack?"
"It's the hermit ails him!" cried one, pointing toward a huge box from one side of which somebody's head and shoulders protruded.
"Quit scaring my horse!" cried Joe.