h.

While upon the descent, it was all Willard could do to hold on, for he
was encumbered with the hoe, which at every jump of the mare struck the
top of her head, until she absolutely flew. The few pedestrians upon the
road that morning stopped in amazement to stare after the mad flight of
horse and rider.

As soon as the bridge was crossed and they commenced the abrupt rise,
"Chestnut Bess" began to slacken her pace, but the young gentleman, who
by this time considered himself her master, would not agree to this. He
proposed to give her a lesson, so he administered a good thrashing with
his novel style of whip and compelled her to keep her pace all the way
to the top of the hill, where horse and rider at length arrived in
safety. From that point to the Old Homestead the mare was perfectly
willing to jog along quietly, and when they reached the farm you may be
sure that the "spirit" of one "mortal" at least was "proud," as he
related to his wondering kinsman how he had taken the mischief out of
the chestnut mare.

The boy rose immeasurably in his uncle Henry's estimation by this feat,
and all were delighted with his pluck, though Jabez Glazier, his
grandfather, with his greater experience, warned him not to trust the
beast too far, for, according to his belief, her eye had danger in it
yet. When the day of work was ended, Willard once more mounted upon
"Chestnut Bess" and rode towards home. For a short time the mare trotted
quietly along, and the boy was more than ever convinced that he had
broken her of her tricks.

This agreeable belief however was of short duration. The thought had
hardly entered his head when she commenced her antics again. Her heels
went skyward and her nose went down, and a repetition of the morning's
performances succeeded.

There was quite as much vigor and pertinacity in her movements as if she
were just starting out for the day. This time Willard had provided
himself with a stout beech switch, and used its stinging persuasion with
good effect. She danced, she pranced, she waltzed, she made sudden
dashes and full stops. She would have rolled in the gravel if the boy's
switch had ceased stinging her into motives for action, but she could
not shake him off. He clung to her back like a little leech, and it
began to look as if human will-power was going to conquer brute
stubbornness, when suddenly a new idea seemed to enter the animal's
head. Without a moment's warning, and utterly scorning