ANOTHER HARDY GARDEN BOOK 



hand and to greet one another before part- 

 ing for the week. Some walk to their near- 

 by homes and others drive away for miles 

 over the hills to their houses on distant 

 farms. 



Behind the church are sheds for the pro- 

 tection of the horses of those who drive. 

 Frequently I drive myself in a low phaeton 

 to the church, and my own mare, an animal 

 of great intelligence whom no one else is 

 allowed to use, understands perfectly when 

 Sunday comes, and almost without guidance 

 makes straight for the little village and the 

 tiny church. She is a creature of superior 

 and somewhat haughty manners, and not 

 only domineers the other horses in the home 

 stable, but fairly browbeats those with whom 

 she comes in contact in the church sheds. 

 They, faithful creatures, mow great fields of 

 hay, plow, and draw heavy loads, and the 

 light task of taking their families to church 

 makes Sunday for them a day of rest. My 

 petted animal hears their tales of the hard 

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