Before that child was a year old,
she used to cry to be held on my back for a ride, and when she was
getting better of the scarlet fever, she kept saying, 'Me 'ant to tee
ole 'Tar,' till, to pacify her, they led me to the open window of the
room where she lay, and she reached her mite of a hand from the bed to
stroke my nose and give me the lump of sugar she had saved for me under
her pillow.
"Bless the child! And it was just so with all the rest, Tim and Martha
and Fred and Jenny and baby May--there was a new baby in that house
every year. Those young ones would crawl over me, and sit on me, when I
was lying down in the stable; ride me, three or four at a time, without
bridle or saddle, and cling to my neck and tail when there was no room
left on my back. They shared their apples and gingerbread with me, and
brought me goodies on a plate sometimes so that I might eat my dinner,
they said, 'like the rest of the folks,' I fetched them to and from
school, and trotted every day to the post-office and the Corners to do
the family errands; and when our Ada was old enough to be trusted to
drive, the whole lot of them would pile into the carryall, and away we
would go for a long ride, through the lanes and the shady woods that
border the pond, stopping a dozen times for the girls to clamber out and
pick the wild posies and for the boys to skip stones or wade in the
water.
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