forget for one while, I
know.'

"Soon arter this we came to Everett's public-house on the bay, and
I galloped up to the door, and went as close as I cleverly could on
purpose, and then reined up short and sudden, when whap goes the pony
right agin the side of the house, and nearly killed himself. He never
stirred for the matter of two or three minutes. I actilly did think he
had gone for it, and Steve went right thro' the winder on to the floor,
with a holler noise, like a log o' wood thrown on to the deck of a
vessel. 'Eugh!' says he, and he cut himself with the broken glass quite
ridikilous.

"'Why,' sais Everett, 'as I am a livin' sinner this is "the
Grave-digger," he'll kill you, man, as sure as you are born, he is the
wickedest hoss that ever was seen in these clearins here; and he is
as blind as a bat too. No man in Nova Scotia can manage that hoss but
Goodish Greevoy, and he'd manage the devil that feller, for he is man,
horse, shark, and sarpent all in one, that Frenchman. What possessed you
to buy such a varmint as that?'

"'Grave digger!' said doleful Steve, 'what is that?'

"'Why,' sais he, 'they went one day to bury a man, down to Clare did
the French, and when they got to the grave, who should be in it but the
pony. He couldn't see, and as he was a feedin' about, he tumbled in head
over heels and they called him always arterwards 'the Grave-digger.'"

"'Very simple people them French,' sais I, 'Elder; they don't know
nothin' about hosses, do they? Their priests keep them in ignorance on
purpose.'

"Steve winced and squinched his face properly; and said the glass in
his hands hurt him. Well, arter we sot all to rights, we began to jog
on towards Digby. The Elder didn't say much, he was as chop fallen as
a wounded moose; at last, says he, 'I'll ship him to St. John, and sell
him. I'll put him on board of Captain Ned Leonard's vessel, as soon as I
get to Digby.' Well, as I turned my head to answer him, and sot eyes on
him agin, it most sot me a haw, hawin' a second time, he _did_ look so
like Old Scratch. Oh Hedges! how haggardised he was! His new hat was
smashed down like a cap on the crown of his head, his white cravat was
bloody, his face all scratched, as if he had been clapper-clawed by a
woman, and his hands was bound up with rags, where the glass cut 'em.
The white sand of the floor of Everett's parlour had stuck to his
damp clothes, and he looked like an old half corned miller, that was a
retur