Kipling brings this idea out well in some of his Vermont stories. The farmer goes on Sunday afternoon to salt the horses in the back pasture, where the boarding horses are feeding. These boarders represent a strange mixture. There are “sore” truck horses from the city, family nags on vacation, and old veterans whose days of usefulness are ended. With this mixed company, bringing in all the tricks of the city, are the sober work horses of the farm. The farmer puts his salt on the rocks where the horses can lick it, and then sits down to look over the rolling country. Several of these city boarders are of the “tough” element, and they attempt to stir up a mutiny. “See,” they say as they lick the salt, “now we have him. He does not suspect us. We can creep up behind him, kick him off that rock and trample him.” But the farm horses object. This man has treated them well, and they will fight for him, and the toughs are awed. I have spent much time watching farm animals at silent communication, and I have come to believe that Kipling’s story may be partly true. I have seen our big Airedale, Bruce, sit with his head at one side watching the children at play on the lawn. He will walk off to where the other dogs are, and evidently tell them about it, glancing at the children as he does so. Some men are able to talk with their eyebrows or their shoulders or their hands so that they are easily understood. I talked with an Italian once through an interpreter. This man was a fruit-grower, and my friend explained to him that I was growing peaches without cultivating the soil, just cutting the grass and weeds and letting them lie on the top of the ground. The Italian regarded this as rank heresy, and he evidently regretted his inability to express himself in English. He did give a curious long shrug to his shoulders, he spread out his hands, rolled his eyes and spat on the ground. He could not possibly have expressed his disapproval more eloquently, and I understood his feelings far better than I did those of the learned professor who elaborated a complicated theory for growing peaches. All intelligent deaf men will tell you that they know something of this subtle power. Edison is very deaf, and I am not surprised to learn that he is studying it, attempting to organize it. It is one of the interesting mysteries of the silent world, and it can be made into a great healing compensation for one who will view his affliction with philosophy, concentrating his mind upon its study.