On the farm, meanwhile, Jot had been proving the correctness of mother’s judgment that he would be worth more than his keep. Among other traits brought out by acquaintance was one striking one. He was passionately fond of animals, and had a control over them that was seemingly the result of sympathy. In mowing time, when I would be tired enough to be resting, he would often be playing with our two year old colt, Jack; and he seldom came into the pasture without an apple or some dainty for him. The colt was of Hambletonian stock, high spirited, and when with Jot full of play.
One day, after we had been mowing hay, mother said, “Bill, there is a shower coming up, and you had better give the boys a little rest.”
“Well, Miss Stark, I guess it will be a good plan, while we are loafing, to give Jack a little training. He’s about the hardest scamp of a colt I ever see.”
But as Bill in his former attempts to train Jack had lost his temper and struck and kicked him, he found it hard to catch him.
“Let me try to catch him for you, Mr. Jenkins,” said Jot.
“What do you know about colts?” said Bill crossly.
“I got acquainted with him down in the pasture, and will try and catch him for you, if you are willing.”
Jot’s respectful manner mollified Bill and he assented, saying:
“Well, go ahead with your sleight of hand with the critter; but I can tell you, he is awful skeetish.”
Jot called the colt to him in coaxing tones, holding out his hand with a lump of sugar, and Jack came circling around him with flowing mane and streaming tail; dropping his tail, snuffed at Jot’s hand, let him take hold of his fetterlock and, yielding to his caresses, allowed him to slip the bridle over his head and to be led around.