Life on a Wisconsin Farm 



days when we were able to steal away before 

 meeting-time without being seen. We got very 

 warm and red at it, and oftentimes poor Jack, 

 dripping with sweat like his riders, seemed to 

 have been boiled in that kettle. 



In Scotland we had often been admonished 

 to be bold, and this advice we passed on to 

 Jack, who had already got many a wild lesson 

 from Indian boys. Once, when teaching him 

 to jump muddy streams, I made him try the 

 creek in our meadow at a place where it is 

 about twelve feet wide. He jumped bravely 

 enough, but came down with a grand splash 

 hardly more than halfway over. The water 

 was only about a foot in depth, but the black 

 vegetable mud half afloat was unfathomable. 

 I managed to wallow ashore, but poor Jack 

 sank deeper and deeper until only his head was 

 visible in the black abyss, and his Indian forti- 

 tude was desperately tried. His foundering so 

 suddenly in the treacherous gulf recalled the 

 story of the Abbot of Aberbrothok's bell, 

 which went down with a gurgling sound while 

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