to the lower end of which the bucket was tied.
Jud grasped the pole and lowered the bucket into the well, and then, while one watched by the door, the others watered the horses in the old carpet-weaver's bucket. It was the only thing to drink from, and if Aunt Peggy had caught us with the "critters’" noses in it we should doubtless have come in for a large share of that "dressing down" which she was reserving for Lemuel Marks.
She came to the door as we were about to ride away and looked over the sweaty horses. "Sakes alive," she said, "you little whelps ride like Jehu. You 'll git them horses ga'nted before you know it."
"You can't ga'nt a horse if he sweats good," said Ump; "but if he don't sweat, you can ga'nt him into fiddle strings."
"They 're pretty critters," said the old woman, running her eyes over the three horses. "Be they Mister Ward's?"
"We all be Mister Ward's," answered Ump, screwing his mouth to one side and imitating the old carpet-weaver's voice.
