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Bacheller, Irving, 1859-1950

"Eben Holden, a tale of the north country"

He took us by the
other team like a flash, on the dead run and three in the buggy.
'He'll do all right,' said Uncle Eb, and paid for the horse.
It was long after dark when we started home, leading him behind,
and near midnight when we arrived.
In the morning I found Uncle Eb in the stable showing him to the
other help. To my surprise the white stocking had disappeared.
'Didn't jes' like that white stockin',' he said, as I came in.
'Wondered how he'd look without it.'
They all agreed this horse and the whistler were as much alike as
two peas in appearance. Breakfast over Uncle Eb asked the
Irishman to hitch him up.
'Come Bill,' said he, 'le's take a ride. Dean'll be comm' 'long bym
bye on his way t' town with that trotter o' his'n. 'Druther like to
meet him.'
I had only a faint idea of his purpose. He let the horse step along at
top speed going up the road and when we turned about he was
breathing heavily. We jogged him back down the road a mile or so,
and when I saw the blazed face of Dean's mare, in the distance, we
pulled up and shortly stopped him.


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