Ploughing 5 



a bay. Notwithstanding, they went very well 

 together. They were slow like himself — slow 

 that is, by comparison with the blacks and 

 the creamy-duns. But they had weight, 

 strength, and steadiness, if they were not so 

 good to look at. The strength was about to 

 be severely strained — they had a tougher 

 job ahead than even clover fallowing. It 

 was the breaking of old grass land, never very 

 mellow, and now sour and lifeless through 

 years of trampling. 



There were no better teams in the county, 

 nor any in better condition. Each and several, 

 the beasts were sightly, neither fat nor lean, 

 active, light on their feet, with good mouths, 

 and sound in wind and limb. Major Baker 

 kept none but mare-mules, knowing them to be 

 sounder, kinder, and hardier. For the most 

 part, he bred them himself, to make sure they 

 had an infusion of blood. Blood tells in a 

 mule, quite as much as in a horse, or a man. 

 Dan's blacks were out of handsome half-bred 

 mares, and stood near sixteen hands at the 

 withers, yet except in pulling through the 

 depths of winter mud, they could not hold 

 out with the creamy-duns, whose dams were 

 thoroughbred. 



When it came to shearing mules Dan was 

 an artist. He had spent two hours or more 

 at it the day before. Manes were trimmed 



