A Night Journey

"Why, what's the matter?" I asked.

"Oh, don't ask me, my dear, don't ask me. What could master be
a-thinking!"

Her words filled me with so much dread that I hurried out into the yard,
hardly knowing which I feared most--to go, or to be forced to stay at
home, for the adventure through the dark hours of the night began to
seem to be something far more full of peril than I had thought a ride up
to market on the cart would prove.

The sight of Ike, however, made me forget the looks of Mrs Dodley, and
I was soon busy with him in the stable--that is to say, I held the
lantern while he harnessed "Basket," the great gaunt old horse whom I
had so nicknamed on account of the way in which his ribs stuck out
through his skin.

"You don't give him enough to eat, Ike," I said.

"Not give him enough to eat!" he replied. "Wo ho, Bonyparty, shove yer
head through. That's the way. Not give him enough to eat, my lad!
Lor' bless you, the more he eats the thinner he gets. He finds the work
too hard for him grinding his oats, for he's got hardly any teeth worth
anything."

"Is he so old, then?" I asked, as I saw collar and hames and the rest
of the heavy harness adjusted.

"Old! I should just think he is, my lad. Close upon two hunderd I
should say's his age."

"Nonsense!" I said; "horses are very old indeed at twenty!"