"Nay," but Master would urge, "she is so young, her mother encouraged the match, and then the reading matter you speak of finding in her room, was enough to turn any young, undisciplined head. You ought to forgive her, and seek her out the same as you would have done ten years ago, had she run away and got lost in the woods."
But Dr. Fred refused.
Quietly Master did his best to find her, but not a clew could he get, and a new turn was given to the thoughts of the household by the sudden death of Carm. "Crushed between two cars," the message said, and that was all until a tightly sealed casket came.
"Better not open it," was the advice accompanying.
Master and another physician did open it, though, but neither father nor mother were allowed to see the remains. Master came out to the barn with a face white and drawn, and, resting his arm on my neck and his head on them, he sobbed like a grieved child.
"Oh, Dandy, this is worse than all, worse than all! I wonder if he'll see his mother?"
"Much comfort children bring, judging from my own experience," groaned Dr. Fred at another time. "What a failure life is, anyhow!"
And I thought, "Yes, it is to men like you, who are trying to steer themselves through the world, and living for self instead of humanity. My master's life is not a failure."
A sorry day it was for brute creation when barb wire was introduced into general use on farms.
They put it around our pasture the first we knew of it. One bright morning John, Jean, Tim and Ball—a span of young horses—and myself were turned in, and, feeling the joyous freedom of unrestrained liberty (and, let me tell you, the oldest, most patient horse in the world feels worried and irritated by gearing, at times), away we went for a race, the young ones especially, rearing, kicking and plunging gaily.