But when Bill attempted to take the colt in charge, he couldn’t manage him.
“Bill,” said mother, “Jonathan seems to understand him; hadn’t you better let him try to break him; for I am afraid you’ll spoil him; so please let him try.”
After he had led Jack around the yard for a while, Jot said to mother, “I think that will do for this time, Mrs. Stark.” And then, with a little more petting and another lump of sugar, sent the colt scampering away.
“My!” said mother, “I didn’t think you could do it.”
In one of our visits to Chester we acquired a dog, or more truthfully, a dog acquired us.
We had no dog on the place; for Bill hated dogs; said they killed sheep, and had fleas, and declared, with some truth, that if a dog didn’t kill sheep, he attracted those who did. But on this day as we were coming from a store where we had been making purchases, a dog with tin things tied to his tail came ki-yi-ing piteously from a near-by shed where some rowdy boys were congregated.
Jot coaxed the dog to him, got him in his arms, took off the tin cans that had been pinched to his tail, and holding the creature in his arms, said to the boys: “Who owns this dog?”
“No one owns him,” one of them answered; “he’s been hanging around here for quite a while.”
We took the frightened creature to the wagon and, when half a mile away, put him down to shift for himself. The dog would not be deserted by his new-found friends, but followed the team and, at every attempt to drive him away, would roll over on his back and implore in doggish fashion, to go with us. So at last, when we arrived at home, the dog was with us.
Bill, of course, strenuously objected to having the dog on the place; but after much pleading I got mother to allow us to keep him, though she also did not like dogs.