“He is so considerate, usually!” Kate says; “he knows we don’t like tearing up and down hills; but now and then his spirit runs away with him!”—­I wish it would some day with us.  No hope of it!

We stop every two miles to water the horse, and though we are exceedingly moderate in our donations, we are a fortune to the hostlers.  I carry the purse, as Kate is quite occupied in holding the reins, and keeping a sharp look-out that her charger don’t run off.  Not that he ever showed a disposition that way,—­being generally quite agreeable, if we wish him to stand ever so long a time; but Kate says he is very nervous, and he might be startled, and then we might find it impossible to stop him,—­a thing easy enough hitherto.

I am obliged to keep the purse in my hand all the time, there being such frequent use for it.  Kate says,—­

“Give the man a half-dime, Charlie, if you can find one.  A three-cent piece looks mean, you know; and a fip mounts up so, it is rather extravagant.  That is the twelfth fip that man has had this week, and for only holding up a bucket a half-minute at a time; for Soldier only takes one swallow.”

She will pay every time we stop, if it is six times a day.

“Shall I give the man a half-dollar at once,” I ask, “and let that do for a week?”

“No, indeed!  How mean I should feel, sneaking off without paying!”

When the roadside shows a patch of tender grass, Kate eyes it, and checks Soldier’s pace.  He knows what that means, and edges toward the tempting herbage.

“Poor fellow!” his driver says,—­“it is like our having to pass a plate of peaches.  Let him have a bite.”

And so we wait while he grazes awhile.  It is the same thing when we cross a brook, and Soldier pauses in it to cool his feet and look at his reflection in the water.

“Perhaps he wants a drink.  We won’t hurry him.  We will let him see that we can afford to wait.”

If he had not come to that conclusion from the very start, he must have believed human beings were miracles of patience and forbearance.

I could write a fine dissertation upon Kate’s foolish fondness and her blind indulgence.  I could show that these are the great failings of her sex, and prove how very much more rational my sex would be in like circumstances.  But I find it too pleasant to be the recipient of such favors myself just now, to find fault.  Wait until I do not need woman’s tenderness, and then I’ll abuse it famously.  I will say then, that she is weak, foolish, imprudent; I will say, she kills with kindness, spoils with indulgence, and all that; but just now I will say nothing.

In one thing I think her kindness very sensible,—­she uses no check-rein.  I think with Sir Francis Head, that all horses are handsomer with their heads held as Nature pleases.  I pity the poor creatures when I see them turning to one side and the other, to find a little relief in change of position.  To restrain horses thus, who have heavy loads to pull, is the height of folly, as a waste of power.