the next base like you were playing ball or something, and you win a clean stall and a big pan of oats.”
Busy at the freshly stocked manger, the gray only rolled an eye in Gib’s direction. His snort sounded more like a comment than a threat. Not a very polite comment maybe, but not too far from it.
That evening, after Gib spent the afternoon cleaning out all the other stalls, and an extra half hour grooming Silky, he still had to clean out the cowshed, milk Bessie, and take care of the chickens (Livy had quit helping with them) before he could go in and tell everybody the good news about the gray. But before he could even start telling his news he found out that Miss Hooper had some that was even better. Better and more important.
Hy was definitely on the mend. Miss Hooper said he’d finally passed the crisis and was feeling strong enough to start complaining again. “Says he’s starving,” she told Mrs. Perry. “Says he thinks we’ve been forgetting to feed him. And when I told him he’d been too sick to eat he said he’d never been that sick a day in his whole life.”
Missus Julia said, “Thank God.” Mrs. Perry said, “Glory be,” and rushed off to the cellar for the makings for a big new pot of soup. And Gib felt a sudden lightening around his heart as if it was about to float up to the ceiling and take the rest of him along with it. An hour or so later when the soup was ready he asked to go with Miss Hooper when she took it up. But Miss Hooper said no, not yet.
“I know you, Gib Whittaker,” she said. “I know you couldn’t resist telling Hy about that wild horse of yours, and heavens knows you should, but not today. You know as well as I do that it would be just like that rascal to insist on getting up and going right out there to see for himself. So you just wait until tomorrow at least. All right?”
So Gib waited impatiently until the next day after dinner. Even then Miss Hooper made him promise not to stay too long and not to say anything that might worry Hy or encourage him to go out to see the dapple gray. “People who have had influenza often have relapses if they try to rush things,” she said. “And I certainly don’t want to put Hy, not to mention the rest of us, through any more of this sickbed routine.”
So Gib promised, but it turned out to be not an easy promise to keep. The moment he started talking about the barn’s new occupant, Hy’s eyes went from sorry slits to wide and lively, and even his wrinkly skin seemed to take on a better color.
Hy wanted the complete story, which wasn’t easy to do when there was so much that had to be left out. The horse Gib wound up describing was beautiful and hot-blooded, as well as wild and frightened, but that was all. Nothing at all about how fighting mad he was, or the horrible wounds that had made him that way.
Hy chuckled some when Gib told how he’d managed to clean the gray’s stall and keep him fed and watered without ever going near him. “Right smart handlin’,” he told Gib, “and you just be sure you go on handlin’ him careful like. Don’t go pushin’ your luck with a wild one like that. Go on lettin’ him keep his distance until ... He stopped then, and grinned for a moment. “But I’m forgettin’ that you don’t need anybody telling you how to speak horse lingo, Gib Whittaker. Figure you’ll know what to do with that critter better than I can tell you.”
Gib was pleased to hear Hy praise his horse handling, but he was disappointed that Hy didn’t have any idea where the gray came from or who it might belong to. “Never did hear of any hot-blooded dapple gray in this neck of the woods,” Hy said, shaking his head. “Somebody must have brought him in on the train in the last month or so, and judgin’ by what you’re telling me they must have paid a bundle for him.”
And then beat him near to death, Gib wanted to say, but of course he didn’t. Instead he went to look out the window at the snow.
Busy at the freshly stocked manger, the gray only rolled an eye in Gib’s direction. His snort sounded more like a comment than a threat. Not a very polite comment maybe, but not too far from it.
That evening, after Gib spent the afternoon cleaning out all the other stalls, and an extra half hour grooming Silky, he still had to clean out the cowshed, milk Bessie, and take care of the chickens (Livy had quit helping with them) before he could go in and tell everybody the good news about the gray. But before he could even start telling his news he found out that Miss Hooper had some that was even better. Better and more important.
Hy was definitely on the mend. Miss Hooper said he’d finally passed the crisis and was feeling strong enough to start complaining again. “Says he’s starving,” she told Mrs. Perry. “Says he thinks we’ve been forgetting to feed him. And when I told him he’d been too sick to eat he said he’d never been that sick a day in his whole life.”
Missus Julia said, “Thank God.” Mrs. Perry said, “Glory be,” and rushed off to the cellar for the makings for a big new pot of soup. And Gib felt a sudden lightening around his heart as if it was about to float up to the ceiling and take the rest of him along with it. An hour or so later when the soup was ready he asked to go with Miss Hooper when she took it up. But Miss Hooper said no, not yet.
“I know you, Gib Whittaker,” she said. “I know you couldn’t resist telling Hy about that wild horse of yours, and heavens knows you should, but not today. You know as well as I do that it would be just like that rascal to insist on getting up and going right out there to see for himself. So you just wait until tomorrow at least. All right?”
So Gib waited impatiently until the next day after dinner. Even then Miss Hooper made him promise not to stay too long and not to say anything that might worry Hy or encourage him to go out to see the dapple gray. “People who have had influenza often have relapses if they try to rush things,” she said. “And I certainly don’t want to put Hy, not to mention the rest of us, through any more of this sickbed routine.”
So Gib promised, but it turned out to be not an easy promise to keep. The moment he started talking about the barn’s new occupant, Hy’s eyes went from sorry slits to wide and lively, and even his wrinkly skin seemed to take on a better color.
Hy wanted the complete story, which wasn’t easy to do when there was so much that had to be left out. The horse Gib wound up describing was beautiful and hot-blooded, as well as wild and frightened, but that was all. Nothing at all about how fighting mad he was, or the horrible wounds that had made him that way.
Hy chuckled some when Gib told how he’d managed to clean the gray’s stall and keep him fed and watered without ever going near him. “Right smart handlin’,” he told Gib, “and you just be sure you go on handlin’ him careful like. Don’t go pushin’ your luck with a wild one like that. Go on lettin’ him keep his distance until ... He stopped then, and grinned for a moment. “But I’m forgettin’ that you don’t need anybody telling you how to speak horse lingo, Gib Whittaker. Figure you’ll know what to do with that critter better than I can tell you.”
Gib was pleased to hear Hy praise his horse handling, but he was disappointed that Hy didn’t have any idea where the gray came from or who it might belong to. “Never did hear of any hot-blooded dapple gray in this neck of the woods,” Hy said, shaking his head. “Somebody must have brought him in on the train in the last month or so, and judgin’ by what you’re telling me they must have paid a bundle for him.”
And then beat him near to death, Gib wanted to say, but of course he didn’t. Instead he went to look out the window at the snow.
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