own horse!—Euphemia rushed into the house and got her hat and cloak, and we took a little drive.
I doubt if any horse ever drew two happier people. Euphemia said but little about the carriage. That was a necessary adjunct, and it was good enough for the present. But the horse! How nobly and with what vigour he pulled us up the hills, and how carefully and strongly he held the carriage back as we went down! How easily he trotted over the level road, caring nothing for the ten miles he had gone that afternoon! What a sensation of power it gave us to think that all that strength and speed and endurance was ours, that it would go where we wished, that it would wait for us as long as we chose, that it was at our service day and night, that it was a horse, and we owned it!
When we returned, Pomona saw us drive in—she had not known of our ride—and when she heard the news she was as wild with proud delight as anybody. She wanted to unharness him, but this I could not allow. We did not wish to be selfish, but after she had seen and heard what we thought was enough for her, we were obliged to send her back to the kitchen for the sake of the dinner.
Then we unharnessed him. I say we, for Euphemia stood by, and I explained everything, for some day, she said, she might want to do it herself. Then I led him into the stable. How nobly he trod! and how finely his hoofs sounded on the stable floor!
There was hay in the mow, and I had brought a bag of oats under the seat of the carriage.
"Isn't it just delightful," said Euphemia, "that we haven't any man? If we had a man, he would take the horse at the door, and we should be deprived of all this. It wouldn't be half like owning a horse."
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