‘Good stepper, too,’ said Dean soberly.

‘Splendid!’ said Uncle Eb.  ‘Can go a mile without ketchin’ his breath.’

‘Thet so?’ said Dean.

‘Good deal like Lucy Purvis,’ Uncle Eb added.  ’She can say the hull mul’plication table an’ only breathe once.  Ye can learn sumthin’ from a hoss like thet.  He’s good as a deestric’ school — thet hoss is.’

Yes, sir, thet hoss is all right,’ said Dean, as he drove away.

‘Righter’n I expected,’ Uncle Eb shouted, and then he covered his mouth, shaking with suppressed laughter.

‘Skunk!’ he said, as we turned the animal and started to walk him home.  ‘Don’t min’ bein’ beat, but I don’t like t’ hev a man rub it in on me.  I’ll git even with him mebbe.’

And he did.  It came about in this way.  We turned our new purchase into the pasture, and Uncle Eb and I drove away to Potsdam for a better nag.  We examined all the horses in that part of the country.  At last we chanced upon one that looked like the whistler, save that he had a white stocking on one hind foot.

‘Same age, too,’ said Uncle Eb, as he looked into his mouth.

‘Can pass anything on the road,’ said his owner.

‘Can he?’ said Uncle Eb, who had no taste for slow going.  ’Hitch him up an’ le’s see what he can do.’

He carried us faster than we had ever ridden before at a trot, and coming up behind another team the man pulled out, let the reins loose on his back, and whistled.  If anyone had hit him with a log chain the horse could not have moved quicker.  He took us by the other team like a flash, on the dead run and three in the buggy.

‘He’ll do all right,’ said Uncle Eb, and paid for the horse.

It was long after dark when we started home, leading him behind, and near midnight when we arrived.

In the morning I found Uncle Eb in the stable showing him to the other help.  To my surprise the white stocking had disappeared.

‘Didn’t jes’ like that white stockin’,’ he said, as I came in.  ‘Wondered how he’d look without it.’

They all agreed this horse and the whistler were as much alike as two peas in appearance.  Breakfast over Uncle Eb asked the Irishman to hitch him up.

‘Come Bill,’ said he, ‘le’s take a ride.  Dean’ll be comm’ ’long bym bye on his way t’ town with that trotter o’ his’n.  ’Druther like to meet him.’

I had only a faint idea of his purpose.  He let the horse step along at top speed going up the road and when we turned about he was breathing heavily.  We jogged him back down the road a mile or so, and when I saw the blazed face of Dean’s mare, in the distance, we pulled up and shortly stopped him.  Dean came along in a moment.

‘Nice mornin’!’ said he.

‘Grand!’ said Uncle Eb.

‘Lookin’ at the lan’scape ag’in?’

‘Yes; I’ve jes’ begun t’ see what a putty country this is,’ said Uncle Eb.