nted old Peggy to be as clean as possible on
Sunday--observing the same principle, no doubt, that induces a great
many people to take a bath on Saturday night. Moreover, he changed the
bedding in her stall on Saturdays, employing a pitchfork and a spade.

For a number of years Peggy had put up with these attentions, responding
amiably to his directions--such as "Get over, dern ye," or "Whoa, back,"
"Stan' still, can't ye?" and so on.

One never-to-be-forgotten Saturday morning in the spring of the year,
Peggy happened to be peevish. The cause of her peevishness was a swarm
of intensely active flies. Mr. Fry was accustomed to an occasional swish
of her tail across his face. He even welcomed it, for the flies bothered
him almost as much as they did Peggy. On mornings when he felt unusually
tired, he was rather grateful to Peggy for including him in the sweep of
her tail.

But on this particular morning the exasperated nag planted one of her
hoofs on Mr. Fry's toes while he was engaged in brushing out the kinks
in her mane.

Mrs. Fry happened to be in the stable at the time, seeing if the hens
had mislaid anything in the hay. She was astonished by the roar of a
mighty oath, followed almost instantly by a thunderous thump on the
barrel-like anatomy of the family horse. A second or two later Peggy's
head came in for a resounding whack, and the stream of profanity
increased to a torrent.

Springing to her feet, the surprised lady cast a startled glance over
the manger into the stall. Her husband had old Peggy backed up against
the partition and was preparing to deliver a third blow with the spade
when she called out to him: "Stop it, you little fool!"

Mr. Fry's attention was diverted. Peggy was spared the impending blow.
Instead, the outraged hostler charged around the partition, through a
narrow passage and into the presence of his wife. He hobbled painfully.
Inarticulate sounds issued from his compressed lips. He gripped the
spade-handle so tightly that cords stood out on his rather formidable
forearms.

Mrs. Fry got as far as "You ugly little--" and then, as he bore down
upon her, turned to flee. He altered his course, and as she passed him
on the way to the open door, the flat of the spade landed with impelling
force upon the broadest part of her person. The sound was not so hollow
as that which resulted from the wallop on Peggy's ribs, but its echo was
a great deal more far-reaching. Indeed, Mrs. Fry's howl coul