When I got out, the horse was laughing, but he had to eat slowly, because the bits were in his mouth. I told him that I was sorry, but did not know how to take them out, and should not dare to, if I did, for his master might come out of the store suddenly and see what I was about. “Thank you,” said he, “a luncheon of corn with the bits in is much better than none. The worst of it is, I have to munch so slowly, that my master may come before I finish it, and thrash me for eating his corn, and you for your kindness.” I sat down on a stone out of the wind, and waited in trouble, for fear that the miller or the owner of the corn would come and find out what I had done.

At last the horse winked and stuck out his upper lip ever so far, and then said, “The last kernel is gone;” then he laughed a little, then shook one ear, then the other, then shut his eyes as if to take a nap. I jumped up and said, “How do you feel, old fellow; any better?” He opened his eyes, and, looking at me kindly, answered, “Very much,” and then blew his nose exceedingly loud, but he did not wipe it; perhaps he had no wiper.