"Oh, I _hope_ he isn't slippery, John Tucker, dear. Let me tell you! I was sitting out in Mr. Chanter's buggy, when he--Boody, I mean--drove into the yard with this horse. His name is Hero, John; good name, don't you think? I was taken with him at once; such a beautiful color, and holds his head so well! The man touched his hat, and was very civil; I said how handsome the horse was, and he was _most_ enthusiastic. Said he had never had such a fine horse in his stable, and he wouldn't part with him for a gold mine if things weren't just as they were. So I asked was he thinking of selling him, because you know we decided we _had_ to have one, John; and he said yes, if the right party could be found. 'For sell that hoss to the wrong party is what I couldn't do, not if he was the Angel Gable!' he said. Then I asked about him, you know; six years old, sound and kind, a lady's horse every inch of him, Boody said, and wouldn't I like to take a turn behind him while I waited. So I did, and he is a _good_ roadster, John; eight or ten miles an hour, I should think; Boody says twelve, but I'm not sure----" I glanced at John Tucker and saw that he was not sure. "Good action! lifts his feet a _little_ high, but Boody says that is his spirit; and as to his disposition, John, just _think_ what he did one day! Some women hired him, Boody says, and put him in their own wagon, and _forgot to fasten the breeching_. They drove him seven miles over that rough road by Gambrel Hill, all ups and downs, you know, and he _never did a thing_! What do you think of that, John Tucker?" "Sounds as if he might be some hoss!" said John Tucker cautiously. "You've took him on trial, you say, Miss Kitty?" "Yes, John, a week. I thought in that time--why, here he is now, this very minute!" A man was driving into the yard in a light trotting sulky. We all hastened out into the yard. "You _were_ quick, Mr. Boody!" cried Kitty. "This is Mr. Boody, John Tucker, and this is Hero: isn't he a beauty?" "Mornin', Slip!" "Mornin', Tucker!" Both men spoke gravely. Seeing that they knew each other, Kitty exchanged a glance with me, and we slipped back a pace. Followed remarks on the weather. It was seasonable, take it by and large, but dry. What we wanted was a nice warm rain. That was right; dry May made poor hay, no two ways to that. John Tucker, still grave, inquired for the health of Mr. Boody's Ma; he trusted she was smart these days. It appeared that she was slim, Mr. Boody was obliged to John Tucker for askin'. Her victuals didn't nourish her: any one gettin' on in years, they had to be nourished, you understand. John Tucker expected that was right, too. Upon this, both men pondered; John Tucker scrutinizing a wart on his left knuckle, Mr. Boody whistling through his teeth and looking up at the clouds. Presently: "Got a new hoss, I see!" said John Tucker.