“I saw a queer thing as I came up the street to-night”, he began, seemingly having forgotten the subject in hand.  “A dray-horse was standing before the mill gates, and frisking about its heels was a dandy little cocker spaniel, prettiest little dog you ever saw.  The horse got tired leaning on one leg, I guess, for he shifted his position, and, in bringing down his left hind leg, he just pinned the little cocker’s foot to the ground with his big hoof.  Cocker yelled.  Worst row I ever heard—­until I came into this room.  But what do you suppose Mr. Horse did?  Just lifted gently his left fore-hoof, but the squealing did not stop.  Then he lifted his right fore-hoof; still the squealing went on.  ‘Thinks I,’ said the horse to himself, ‘it must be my right hind-hoof,’ so he lifted that.  ‘No, sir,’ he told himself; ’sure, it’s my left-hinder’; and lifting that, he released the poor dog, who dashed around to the horse’s head, leaping up to his nose, and saying, ’Thank you!’ over and over.* And the big, clumsy dray-horse just drew his long face a little longer, and said:  ’Never mind, old chap!  I didn’t mean to hurt you; I’m sorry.’  Then came the drayman out of the mill—­a nice, considerate, heart-warm, intelligent human being.  Oh, yes! we humans know so much more than animals, don’t we, fellows?  And because the big, patient, kindly dray-horse had, in its restlessness, moved twenty feet from the spot the driver left him at, that creature that is supposed to have known better, just took his whip and licked and lashed that glorious animal, yelling in a frenzy of temper, ’I’ll teach you to move, when I leave you!  You—­’ Well, boys, you nor I don’t care to hear all he did say.”

[Fact observed by the writer’s brother.]

“The brute!” “The big human hulk!” “The sneak!” “And he called himself a man!” were some of the phrases growled out by the indignant boys.

“Yes, a man,” continued Benson’s father, “so much better than the dray-horse, that knew enough to lift his feet until he lifted the right one.  I believe if that horse had the feet of a centipede, he would have gone on lifting them until the dog was released.  I tell you, boys, if I could get anyone to help me, I’d start an Animal Rescue Club, to—­”

But the good gentleman never finished that sentence.  The boys were on top of him, round him, under him, clamoring and shouting for him to organize their club for them, to help them study the habits and ways and “thoughts” of animals, to prevent abuse and cruelty towards them.  They voted him in as honorary president, and went home that night the happiest-hearted lot of boys in the country.  Just before they dispersed, however, a shy little chap named Jimmy Duffy, who had not much opportunity to speak amid the noise of stronger voices, said: 

“But, Mr. Benson, you do think the dray-horse thought and reasoned, don’t you?”

“Surely he did, boy!  And he spoke, too, in his own simple horse-language, though we cannot understand his tongue; but we should,” answered Benson’s father.