Sheila of Big Wreck Cove | Page 8

head off. You'll be the death of me some day, Ira, blowin' up that way. I
wonder I didn't jump clean through the bottom of that feed box when I
was just reaching down to get a measure of oats."
"Aunt Prue," Tunis interposed, "why do you keep the little tad of feed
you have to buy for Queenie in this big old chest?"
"There!" Cap'n Ira hastened to rejoin, glad likewise to turn the trend of
conversation. "That's all that dratted boy's doings, little John-Ed
Williams. Who else would have ever thought of dumping a two-bushel
bag of oats into a twenty-bushel bin? We always put feed in that
covered can yonder, so as to keep shet of the rats. But that boy, when
he brought the oats, dumped 'em into the box before I could stop him.
He's got less sense than his father; and you know, Tunis, John-Ed
himself ain't got much more wit than the law allows."
"But if you hadn't sneezed--" began Prudence again.
"You take her into the house, Cap'n Ira," said Tunis. "I'll feed Queenie.
What do you give her--this measure full of oats? And a hank of that
hay?"
"And a bunch of fodder. Might as well give her a dinner while you're
about it," grumbled the old man, leading his tottering wife toward the
door. "As I say, that old critter is eatin' her head off."

"Well, she long ago earned her keep in her old age," Tunis said,
laughing.
He could remember when the Queen of Sheba had come to the Ball
barn as a colt. Many a clandestine bareback ride had he enjoyed. He fed
the mare and petted her as if she were his own. Then he scraped the
oats out of the bin and poured them into the galvanized-iron can, so that
Cap'n Ira could more easily get at the mare's feed.
He went to the house afterward to see if there was any other little chore
he could do for the old couple before going on to his own home.
"You can't do much for us, Tunis, unless you can furnish me a new pair
of legs," said Cap'n Ira. "I might as well have timber ones as these I've
got. What Prue and me needs is what you've got but can't give
away--youth."
"You ought to have somebody living with you to help, Cap'n Ira," said
the young man.
"I cal'late," said the other dryly, "that we've already made that
discovery, Tunis. Trouble is, we ain't fixed right to increase the pay roll.
I'd like to know who you'd think would want to sign up on this craft
that even the rats have deserted?"
"Never mind, Ira. Don't be downhearted," Prudence said, now
recovered from her excitement. "Perhaps the Lord has something good
in store for us."
Cap'n Ira pursed his lips.
"I ain't doubting the Lord's stores is plentiful," he returned rather
irreverently. "The trouble is for us poor mortals to get at 'em. Well,
Tunis, I certainly am obliged to you."
The flurry of excitement was over. But Ira Ball was a determined man.
It was in his mind that the trouble of taking care of the old mare was
too great for Prudence, and he could not do the barn chores himself.

They really had no use for the gray mare, for nowadays the neighbors
did all their errands in town for them, and the few remaining acres of
the old farm lay fallow.
Nor, had he desired to sell the mare, would anybody be willing to pay
much for the twenty-two-year-old Queenie. In truth, Ira Ball was too
tender-hearted to think of giving the Queen of Sheba over to a new
owner and so sentence her to painful toil.
"She'd be a sight better off in the horse heaven, wherever that is," he
decided. But he was careful to say nothing like this in his wife's hearing.
"Women are funny that way," he considered. "She'd rather let the
decrepit old critter hang around eatin' her head off, like I say, than
mercifully put her out of her misery."
Stern times call for stern methods. Cap'n Ira Ball had seen the tragic
moment when he was forced to separate a bridegroom from his bride
with a sinking deck all but awash under his feet. What had to be done
had to be done! Prudence could no longer be endangered by the stable
tasks connected with the old mare. He could not relieve her. They could
scarcely afford a hired hand merely to take care of Queenie.
He remained rather silent that evening, and even forgot to praise Prue's
hot biscuit, of which he ate a good many with his creamed pollack. The
sweet-tempered old woman chatted as she knitted on his blue-wool
hose, but