"That's all that dratted boy's doings, little
John-Ed Williams. Who else would have ever thought of dumping a
two-bushel bag of oats into a twenty-bushel bin? We always put feed
in that covered can yonder, so as to keep shet of the rats. But that
boy, when he brought the oats, dumped 'em into the box before I
could stop him. He's got less sense than his father; and you know,
Tunis, John-Ed himself ain't got much more wit than the law allows."
"But if you hadn't sneezed--" began Prudence again.
"You take her into the house, Cap'n Ira," said Tunis. "I'll feed
Queenie. What do you give her--this measure full of oats? And a hank
of that hay?"
"And a bunch of fodder. Might as well give her a dinner while you're
about it," grumbled the old man, leading his tottering wife toward
the door. "As I say, that old critter is eatin' her head off."
"Well, she long ago earned her keep in her old age," Tunis said,
laughing.
He could remember when the Queen of Sheba had come to the Ball barn
as a colt. Many a clandestine bareback ride had he enjoyed. He fed
the mare and petted her as if she were his own. Then he scraped the
oats out of the bin and poured them into the galvanized-iron can, so
that Cap'n Ira could more easily get at the mare's feed.
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