They were less than two miles from
the town, but it was a long hour before Job dragged his weary way
up the street, in at the gate, and tottered feebly up to the open
door of the barn. By making little side excursions up and down the
country, the other carriage had managed to keep respectfully in
the rear; and Katharine now tied Cob outside the gate, while the
others crowded around Job to watch with pitying eyes, as Mrs.
Adams unharnessed this feeble veteran who had probably gone on his
final march. The last strap was unbuckled and allowed to fall to
the ground, while Mrs. Adams invitingly held up the worn old
halter, to slip it on Job's nose. Perhaps she was slower than
usual, perhaps some sudden thought of a neglected opportunity shot
through Job's brain. However that might be, there was a quick
scattering of the group, as two iron-shod heels flew up into the
air, the brown head was playfully tossed from side to side, and
Job, the feeble, the lifeless, went frisking away across the lawn,
now galloping furiously up and down, with a lofty disregard of the
holes he was tearing in the soft, dry turf, now stopping to roll
on his back and kick his aged legs ecstatically in the air, with
all the joyous abandonment of a young colt, then scrambling up
again, to go pounding away, straight across a brilliant bed of
chrysanthemums and only pausing, for a moment, to gaze pensively
out over the front gate.
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