to him, an’ off he stepped as chipper as could be, an’ we went joggin’ along all right mebbe two mile, an’ when I slowed up, up he come agin.  I gin him another clip in the same place on the shoulder, an’ I got down an’ tied him up agin, an’ the same thing happened as before, on’y it didn’t take him quite so long to make up his mind about startin’, an’ we went some further without a hitch.  But I had to go through the pufformance the third time before he got it into his head that if he didn’t go when I wanted he couldn’t go when he wanted, an’ that didn’t suit him; an’ when he felt the whip on his shoulder it meant bus’nis.”

“Was that the end of his balkin’?” asked Mrs. Bixbee.

“I had to give him one more go-round,” said David, “an’ after that I didn’t have no more trouble with him.  He showed symptoms at times, but a touch of the whip on the shoulder alwus fetched him.  I alwus carried them straps, though, till the last two or three times.”

“Wa’al, what’s the deakin kickin’ about, then?” asked Aunt Polly.  “You’re jest sayin’ you broke him of balkin’.”

“Wa’al,” said David slowly, “some hosses will balk with some folks an’ not with others.  You can’t most alwus gen’ally tell.”

“Didn’t the deakin have a chance to try him?”

“He had all the chance he ast fer,” replied David.  “Fact is, he done most of the sellin’, as well ‘s the buyin’, himself.”

“How’s that?”

“Wa’al,” said David, “it come about like this:  After I’d got the hoss where I c’d handle him I begun to think I’d had some int’restin’ an’ valu’ble experience, an’ it wa’n’t scurcely fair to keep it all to myself.  I didn’t want no patent on’t, an’ I was willin’ to let some other feller git a piece.  So one mornin’, week before last—­let’s see, week ago Tuesday it was, an’ a mighty nice mornin’ it was, too—­one o’ them days that kind o’ lib’ral up your mind—­I allowed to hitch an’ drive up past the deakin’s an’ back, an’ mebbe git somethin’ to strengthen my faith, et cetery, in case I run acrost him.  Wa’al, ’s I come along I seen the deakin putterin’ ‘round, an’ I waved my hand to him an’ went by a-kitin’.  I went up the road a ways an’ killed a little time, an’ when I come back there was the deakin, as I expected.  He was leanin’ over the fence, an’ as I jogged up he hailed me, an’ I pulled up.

“‘Mornin’, Mr. Harum,’ he says.

“‘Mornin’, deakin,’ I says.  ‘How are ye? an’ how’s Mis’ Perkins these days?’

“‘I’m fair,’ he says; ‘fair to middlin’, but Mis’ Perkins is ailin’ some—­as usyul’ he says.”

“They do say,” put in Mrs. Bixbee, “thet Mis’ Perkins don’t hev much of a time herself.”