Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1896-10-24
About an Old Horse.

dinner, and / can let him stand in
the meeting house horse shed, but
the flies plague him fearful at this
time of the year.
Certainly he could come in
Whatever else we may have been
remiss in at clubhouse, no onecan say
we ever refused shelter to a tired
horse, or bite Of something to eat
to any stray and hungry animal.
"Put him in every morning and
take him out when you get ready"
No need to have said he was an
old horse. Every square inch Of his
anatomy told that.
But as gave a glance towards
him each morning as he passed
through the dooryard, trotting
cheerfully up to the stable door, !
could see that he was well groomed
and we'll fed.
None of the tagging, uncertain
gait of hungry horses, looking this
way and that. as if in the hope that
stray wisp of hay may be hanging
in the air for them somewhere.
When the noon hour came, his soft
whinneying told of the approach of
his master with the welcome dinner.
Going out one noon, I saw the
man sitting there eating his own
midday lunch, in full sight OF the
old horse.
"Old Billknows when I'm round
he said, II think he relishes his din
ner better If he thinks Pm close by
When he had stood there three or
four days, l heard one afternoon, the
heavy tramp, tramp on the stable
floor that told of loose horse.
Thinking that it was our own lad
die who had united himself, hasti-
ly ran out the side door, to get in
front Of him, before he would get
out and go careering around the
lawn.
But it was no defiant horse with
mischief in his eye, bent on getting
past any obstacle that stood between
him and the coveted gallop up and
down til roal
There in the middle of the stable
floor, stood the old horse, his nose
stretched out shifting ,e air from
the open door.
One foot was partly raised and
put forward, as though he wanted
to step out, but hardly dared to. At
the sound OF my voice, bis sensitive
ears were brought to a point and
then be slowly raised his nostrils
higher and shifted in my direction,
as if TO find out whether 1 were
friend or foe.
saw at once that he was entirely
blind.
No creature that knew he was on
the edge of precipice, or in fact on
any uncertain ground, could have
shown in attitude or expression of
face, anything more like an anxious
human appeal. | saw that any
movement towards him increased
his distress, SO I simply drew to-
gether the stable door aud left him
until his master came.
"Lawl afraid of old Bill Why
he's nothing but a BE- by, amt
you, old boy. If you spoke right
up to him, he'd gone back into his
stall. Why my wife can do any
thing with him, and as for the little
kids, they just crawl all round him.
My wife says she believes he thinks
he's one of 'em himself. You see I
bought him right after he got blind,
and SO he knows us, but he amt
sure of anybody else. Now stand
round old boy It'll I get your togs
on, then we'll go home and get some
supper and see the kids. Why we
just love old Bill down to our
house."
There was nothing appealing now
in the attitude of the old horse. He
was all right. He was under the
command of the master who had
never failed him in care or kindness.
He even wore the air Of one who
knew there was a warm honle vel
come awaiting him.
How cheerfully he trotted out of
the dooryard and across the street,
and SO on up the hill in front of the
house. No one would have thought
that he was blind horse now. But
in perfect darkness himself, he trust
ed his steps to the guidance of one
who had always chosen the safe
paths for Linn.
Heaven bless and prosper that
man, | said p Yes, and the wife and
little kids too, for their kindness to
that blind old horse, and something
dimmed my vision as / watched him
go steadily up the hill and 80 on out
out of sight. Not in pity for him SO
kindly treated, but my heart
went out to the numberless other
old horses scattered all over our
land. Patient, faithful, dumb in
pain and WEAKNESS, giving their all
of strength and will, and only ask
ing in return the, pittance of food
and shelter, that enables them to
keep on to the end.
Who shall grudge them the kind
L. 4.