ney Trove, against their protest, began to help with
the dishes. Miss S'mantha prudently managed to keep the stove
between him and her. A fire and candles were burning in the
parlour. He asked permission, however, to stay where he could talk
with them. Tunk Hosely, the man of all work, came in for his
supper. He was an odd character. Some, with a finger on their
foreheads, confided the opinion that he was "a little off." All
agreed he was no fool--in a tone that left it open to argument. He
had a small figure and a big squint. His perpetual squint and
bristly, short beard were a great injustice to him. They gave him
a look severer than he deserved. A limp and leaning shoulder
complete the inventory of external traits. Having eaten, he set a
candle in the old barn lantern.

"Wal, mister," said he, when all was ready, "come out an' look at
my hoss."

The teacher went with him out under a sky bright with stars to the
chill and gloomy stable.

"Look at me," said Tunk, holding up the lantern as he turned about.
"Gosh all fish-hooks! I'm a wreck."

"What's the matter?" Sidney Trove inquired.

"All sunk in--right here," Tunk answered impressively, his hand to
his chest.

"How did it happen?"

"Kicked by a boss; that's how it happened," was the significant
answer. "Lord! I'm all shucked over t' one side--can't ye see it?"

"A list t' sta'b'rd--that's what they call it, I believe," said the
teacher.

"See how I limp," Tunk went on, striding to show his pace. "Ain't
it awful!"

"How did that happen?"

"Sprung my ex!" he answered, turning quickly with a significant
look. "Thrown from a sulky in a hoss race an' sprung my ex. Lord!
can't ye see it?"

The teacher nodded, not knowing quite how to take him.

"Had my knee unsot, too," he went on, lifting his knee as he turned
the light upon it. "Jes' put yer finger there," said he,
indicating a slight protuberance. "Lord! it's big as a bog spavin."

He had planned to provoke a query, and it came.

"How did you get it?"

"Kicked ag'in," said Tunk, sadly. "Heavens! I've had my share o'
bangin'. Can't conquer a skittish hoss without sufferin' some--not
allwus. Now, here's a boss," he added, as they walked to a stall.
"He ain't much t' look at, but--"

He paused a moment as he neared the horse--a white and ancient
palfrey. He stood thoughtfully on "cocked ankles," every leg in a
bandage, tail and mane braided,

"Get ap, Prince," Tunk shoute