"Mr. Morton, I was generalizing. We always except present company. Remember, I disagree with your paper, not you; but why you look up to these human species of the gobbler is something I can't understand, and being only a _woman_, that need not seem strange to you." "Since I must tell you the truth on all occasions, _nolens volens_, you have hit on a subject wherein I differ from my paper. Human phases of the gobbler are not pleasant." "But the turkey phase _is, very_," said Mr. Yocomb, throwing a handful of corn down before his favorite, which, like certain eminent statesmen, immediately looked after his own interests. "Mr. Yocomb, please, let me help you feed the horses," said Miss Warren, leading the way into the barn, where on one side were mows for hay and grain, and, on the other, stalls for several horses. The sleek and comfortable animals seemed to know the young girl, for they thrust out their black and brown noses toward her and projected their ears instead of laying them back viciously, as when I approached; and one old plow-horse that had been much neglected, until Miss Warren began to pet him, gave a loud ecstatic whinny. "Oh, you big, honest old fellows!" she exclaimed, caressing one and another, "I'd rather teach you than half my pupils." "In which half do you place me?" I asked. "You? oh, I forgot; I was to teach you topography. I will assign you by and by, after you have had a few lessons." "A man ought to do as well as a horse, so I hope to win your favor." "I wish all men did as well as Mr. Yocomb's horses. They evidently feel they have the family name and respectability to keep up. Mr. Yocomb, what is it that smells so sweetly?" "That is the red-top clover we cut last week." "Oh, isn't it good? I wouldn't mind having some myself," and she snatched down a fragrant handful from the mow. "Here, Old Plod," she said, turning to the plow-horse, "the world has rather snubbed you, as it has honest worth before. Mr. Yocomb, you and Reuben are much too fond of gay horses." "Shall I tell Reuben that thee'd rather ride after Old Plod, as thee calls him?" "No, I thank you; I'll go on as I've begun. I'm not changeable." "Now, Friend Morton, is not Emily Warren as bad as I am about gay horses?" "I'm inclined to think she is about as bad as you are in all respects." "Emily Warren, thee needn't put on any more airs. Richard Morton thinks thee isn't any better than I am, and there's nothing under the sun an editor doesn't know."