WE preferred Nell to Ned, but Dad always voted for the colt. "You can
trust him; he'll stand anywhere," he used to say. Ned WOULD! Once, when
the grass-paddock was burning, he stood until he took fire. Then he stood
while we hammered him with boughs to put the blaze out. It took a lot to
frighten Ned. His presence of mind rarely deserted him. Once, though, he
got a start. He was standing in the shade of a tree in the paddock when
Dad went to catch him. He seemed to be watching Dad, but was n't. He was
ASLEEP. "Well, old chap," said Dad, "how ARE y'?" and proceeded to bridle
him. Ned opened his mouth and received the bit as usual, only some of his
tongue came out and stayed out. "Wot's up w' y'?" and Dad tried to poke
it in with his finger, but it came out further, and some chewed grass
dropped into his hand. Dad started to lead him then, or rather to PULL
him, and at the first tug he have the reins Ned woke with a snort and
broke away. And when the other horses saw him looking at Dad with his
tail cocked, and his head up, and the bridle-reins hanging, they went for
their lives through the trees, and Blossom's foal got staked.
Another day Dad was out on Ned, looking for the red heifer, and came
across two men fencing--a tall, powerful-looking man with a beard, and a
slim young fellow with a smooth face.
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