Reaching an open glade in the forest, the peddler stopped, and tethered the horse to a swaying limb. He then took from his pack a keen lancet, with which he made a small incision in the skin under the shoulder of the beast. In this slit he inserted a quill, and begun to blow. Those accustomed to the management of a horse know the effect of this. In a few moments Paul, who stood looking on in open-mouthed wonder, did not know the horse, who seemed to grow fat under the hands of the skillful jockey.
After he had blown the animal up to a wholesome plumpness, Boston nicely and tightly sewed up the small incision. Then taking from his pack a small vial, he filled a large gourd which he had brought from the house with water from the spring, and poured into it the contents of the vial. The water at once assumed a greenish hue. With this mixture he now washed the horse thoroughly in every part, keeping him carefully in the shade. This done, he led him out into the sunlight, and, to the intense astonishment of Paul Swedlepipe, by some chemical action of the sun upon the mixture, the horse changed at once from a dirty white to a delicate shade of brown. Raising his hands upward, as if calling witnesses to his astonishment, the Dutchman cried:
“Der tuyvel is upon earth. You ish der tuyvel!”
“No, Paul. A lineal descendant of the old fellow, though. Do you think I could sell that horse to Ten Eyck?”
“Yaw. He is so goot changed he would sheat me again. I never puys nottings from you no more.”
“He must stand in the sun for a couple of hours, to let the color fasten, and then we will take him up to the house. Now let me put you up to a wrinkle. When Ten Eyck comes for the horse, I want you to bid against him.”
“Vat ish dat?”
“If he offers forty guilders for him, you must offer fifty.”
“For dat hoss? I no wants dat hoss.”
“You needn’t have him. Of course Ten Eyck will bid sixty. You will then say seventy.”