"Just look at these lips, Joe," said Mr. Wood; "delicate and fine like
our own, and yet there are brutes that will jerk them as if they were
made of iron. I wish the Lord would give horses voices just for one
week. I tell you they'd scare some of us. Now, Pacer, that's over. I'm
not going to dose you much, for I don't believe in it. If a horse has
got a serious trouble, get a good horse doctor, say I. If it's a simple
thing, try a simple remedy. There's been many a good horse drugged and
dosed to death. Well, Scamp, my beauty, how are you, this morning?"
In the stall next to Pacer, was a small, jet-black mare, with a lean
head, slender legs, and a curious restless manner. She was a regular
greyhound of a horse, no spare flesh, yet wiry and able to do a great
deal of work. She was a wicked looking little thing, so I thought I had
better keep at a safe distance from her heels.
Mr. Wood petted her a great deal and I saw that she was his favorite.
"Saucebox," he exclaimed, when she pretended to bite him, "you know if
you bite me, I'll bite back again. I think I've conquered you," he said,
proudly, as he stroked her glossy neck; "but what a dance you led me.
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