THRASHING. 119 



wheel. "Back, all," as the men close to. "Back, 

 my pet, gently; there, soothe her with your hand." 

 The little spirited thing is absolutely champing her 

 bit with evident vexation. " Back, gently," and the 

 wheels go round. "Now, with her with a will." 

 "Too far again — easy," but it is too late. "That 

 won't do ; it must come forward a yard," exclaims 

 the engineer. "Now, all; up, Star!" and the 

 plucky cob springs to her collar, quivering as every 

 muscle strains to utmost tension. " Up ! that will 

 do." The two tons have started to their place on 

 the heavy sward, and the small mountain mare 

 stands trembling with the over-exertion, but undis- 

 mayed, and champing her bit, and affectedly snapping 

 at you if you dare to smooth her neck. 



"It shall not be again, my pet," I say; "they 

 must have a heavier horse in the shafts next time." 



" That's a beauty ! " approvingly exclaims the at- 

 tendant, as he pats her panting side and neck. 



" You'll not match her in the three counties," 

 proudly chimes in the bailiff. "There now, be 

 quiet " — as, with her little ears laid back, she snaps 

 at him saucily — "will you? You're worth your 

 weight in gold, you are, my darling, and no mis- 

 take." 



And now the teams are parted and go off to feed, 

 and the engineer fits the strap, and two hands have 

 fetched the coal, and another brings the water-tub, 

 and soon all things are ready for the morning. 



" You'll bring four hands down ? " I remind the 

 engineman. 



" All right, sir." 



