THE COUNTRY BOY 29 



I had forgotten them. It was dark and I 

 heard an owl screech up in the orchard. Shed- 

 ding tears didn't save me, I was ordered to 

 the barn to get Old John. I had both hands 

 clenched tight in his mane. I knew he was 

 tracking the sheep. Presently from out the 

 dark ahead I could hear the bell; then I knew 

 that they would start straight for the barn, 

 which they did. Once back in the stall I 

 hugged Old John, the tears on my cheeks had 

 dried with fright, and after a footbath I was 

 in bed, safe from an awful, dark night, a 

 coyote, and some barn and timber owls. 



But Old John and I had some pleasant 

 times; our associations were not all ghastly. 

 In the summer we used to buck straw from 

 the threshing machine; when there were pic- 

 nics I used to braid his mane and tail the day 

 before. Then when I rode to the picnic with 

 his kinky mane, both of us used to enjoy it, 

 and he especially seemed to know how pretty 

 he looked. But some way he was always so 

 glad to get home; he didn't seem like another 

 horse, he just seemed like one of the family, 

 and the only time it took a man to handle him 

 was when we went to the State Fair at Salem. 



