tion.

"Look at that!" said Ike; "no young horse couldn't have done that, my
lad;" and as if to deny the assertion, Basket gave himself a shake which
made the chains of his harness rattle. "Steady, old man," cried Ike as
he hooked on the chains to the shaft, and then going to the other side
he started. "Hullo! what are you doing here?" he cried, and the light
fell upon Shock, who had busily fastened the chains on the other side.

He did not speak, but backed off into the darkness.

"Got your coat, squire?" cried Ike. "That's well. Open the gates,
Shock. That's your sort. Now, then, `Basket,' steady."

The horse made the chains rattle as he stuck the edges of his hoofs into
the gravel, the wheels turned, the great axle-tree rattled; there was a
swing of the load to left and another to right, a bump or two, and we
were out in the lane, going steadily along upon a lovely starlight
night.

As soon as we were clear of the yard, and Shock could be heard closing
the gates and rattling up the bar, Ike gave his long cart-whip three
tremendous cracks, and I expected to see "Basket" start off in a
lumbering trot; but he paid not the slightest heed to the sharp reports,
and it was evidently only a matter of habit, for Ike stuck the whip
directly after in an iron loop close by where the horse's great
well-filled nose-bag was strapped to the front-ladder, beneath which
there was a sack fairly filled with good old hay.

"Yes," said Ike, seeing the direction of my eyes, "we don't starve the
old hoss; do we, Bonyparty?"

He slapped the horse's haunch affectionately, and Basket wagged his
tail, while the cart jolted on.

The clock was striking eleven, and sounded mellow and sweet on the night
air as we made for the main road, having just ten miles to go to reach
the market, only a short journey in these railway times, but one which
it took the bony old horse exactly five hours to compass.

"It seems a deal," I said. "I could walk it in much less time."

"Well, yes, Master Grant," said Ike, rubbing his nose; "it do seem a
deal, five hours--two mile an hour; but a horse is a boss, and you can't
make nothing else out of him till he's dead. I've been to market with
him hunderds upon hunderds of times, and he says it's five hours' work,
and he takes five hours to do it in; no more, and no less. P'r'a'ps I
might get him up sooner if I used the whip; but how would you like any
one to use a whip on you when you was picking ap