“The meanest thing top of the earth was the matter with him,” declared David, “but I didn’t find it out till the next afternoon, an’ then I found it out good.  I hitched him to the open buggy an’ went ’round by the East road, ’cause that ain’t so much travelled.  He went along all right till we got a mile or so out of the village, an’ then I slowed him down to a walk.  Wa’al, sir, scat my ——!  He hadn’t walked more’n a rod ‘fore he come to a dead stan’still.  I clucked an’ git-app’d, an’ finely took the gad to him a little; but he only jest kind o’ humped up a little, an’ stood like he’d took root.”

“Wa’al, now!” exclaimed Mrs. Bixbee.

“Yes’m,” said David; “I was stuck in ev’ry sense of the word.”

“What d’ye do?”

“Wa’al, I tried all the tricks I knowed—­an’ I could lead him—­but when I was in the buggy he wouldn’t stir till he got good an’ ready; ‘n’ then he’d start of his own accord an’ go on a spell, an’—­”

“Did he keep it up?” Mrs. Bixbee interrupted.

“Wa’al, I s’d say he did.  I finely got home with the critter, but I thought one time I’d either hev to lead him or spend the night on the East road.  He balked five sep’rate times, varyin’ in length, an’ it was dark when we struck the barn.”

“I should hev thought you’d a wanted to kill him,” said Mrs. Bixbee; “an’ the fellers that sold him to ye, too.”

“The’ was times,” David replied, with a nod of his head, “when if he’d a fell down dead I wouldn’t hev figgered on puttin’ a band on my hat, but it don’t never pay to git mad with a hoss; an’ as fur ’s the feller I bought him of, when I remembered how he told me he’d stand without hitchin’, I swan!  I had to laugh.  I did, fer a fact.  ’Stand without hitchin’!’ He, he, he!”

“I guess you wouldn’t think it was so awful funny if you hadn’t gone an’ stuck that horse onto Deakin Perkins—­an’ I don’t see how you done it.”

“Mebbe that is part of the joke,” David allowed, “an’ I’ll tell ye th’ rest on’t.  Th’ next day I hitched the new one to th’ dem’crat wagin an’ put in a lot of straps an’ rope, an’ started off fer the East road agin.  He went fust rate till we come to about the place where we had the fust trouble, an’, sure enough, he balked agin.  I leaned over an’ hit him a smart cut on the off shoulder, but he only humped a little, an’ never lifted a foot.  I hit him another lick, with the selfsame result.  Then I got down an’ I strapped that animal so’t he couldn’t move nothin’ but his head an’ tail, an’ got back into the buggy.  Wa’al, bom-by, it may ‘a’ ben ten minutes, or it may ‘a’ ben more or less—­it’s slow work settin’ still behind a balkin’ hoss—­he was ready to go on his own account, but he couldn’t budge.  He kind o’ looked around, much as to say, ‘What on earth’s the matter?’ an’ then he tried another move, an’ then another, but no go.  Then I got down an’ took the hopples off an’ then climbed back into the buggy, an’ says ‘Cluck,