creatures
zuffer!" And, laying his hand on the mare's ears: "They zay 'orses
'aven't no souls. 'Tes my belief they'm gotten souls, zame as us. Many's
the Christian ah've seen ain't got the soul of an 'orse. Zame with the
beasts--an' the sheep; 'tes only they can't spake their minds."

"And where," I said, "do you think they go to when they die?" He looked
at me a little queerly, fancying, perhaps, that I was leading him into
some trap; making sure, too, that I was a real stranger, without power
over him, body or soul--for humble folk in the country must be careful;
then, reassured, and nodding in his bushy beard, he answered knowingly:

"Ah don't think they goes zo very far!"

"Why? Do you ever see their spirits?"

"Naw, naw; I never zeen none; but, for all they zay, ah don't think none
of us goes such a brave way off. There's room for all, dead or alive.
An' there's Christians ah've zeen--well, ef they'm not dead for gude,
then neither aren't dumb animals, for sure."

"And rabbits, squirrels, birds, even insects? How about them?"

He was silent, as if I had carried him a little beyond the confines of
his philosophy, then shook his head:

"'Tes all a bit dimsy-like. But yu watch dumb animals, Zurr, even the
laste littlest one, and yu'll zee they knows a lot more'n what us
thenks; an' they du's things, tu, that putts shame on a man's often as
not. They've a got that in 'em as passes show." And not noticing my
stare at that unconscious plagiarism, he added: "Ah'd zuuner zet up of a
naight with an 'orse than with an 'uman; they've more zense, and
patience." And, stroking the mare's forehead, he added: "Now, my dear,
time for yu t' 'ave yure bottle."

I waited to see her take her draught, and lay her head down once more on
the pillow. Then, hoping he would get a sleep, I rose to go.

"Aw, 'tes nothin' much," he said, "this time o' year; not like in
winter. 'Twill come day before yu know, these buttercup-nights"; and
twinkling up at me out of his kindly bearded face, he settled himself
again into the straw. I stole a look back at his rough figure propped
against the sack, with the mare's head down beside his knee, at her
swathed chestnut body, and the gold of the straw, the white walls, and
dusky nooks and shadows of that old stable, illumined by the "dimsy"
light of the old lantern. And with the sense of having seen something
holy, I crept away up into the field where I had lingered the day
before, and sat down on