Jack does not move rapidly; it is not compatible with his size and dignity to do so, for he seems to realize his importance and to understand how utterly impossible it would be for the company to conduct the express business without his valuable assistance. In front of his office Jack is king, and woe to any other horse who tries to usurp his special post. He knows precisely how that wagon should be backed in to the sidewalk to receive its daily load, and does not rest until he has brought it to exactly the proper position. Then he settles down for a nap, and no one would imagine that the big white horse standing there with his head hanging down and eyes partly closed had half an ounce of sense in his great head. But stand aside for a few moments and watch him. Presently you see one ear turned slowly backward for apparently no cause at all. But Jack knows more than you do, and that ear is sharp, and has heard the patter of familiar feet and the sound of a sweet little voice. He cannot see behind him because, long ago, some stupid man, who thought he knew more about horses’ needs and natures than He who created them, decreed that they must wear a great patch of leather on each side of their heads in order that they may not know what is happening behind them; and _blinders_ they are indeed. But he did not stop up their _ears_, and Jack has that to be thankful for. That pretty ear has heard a voice it recognizes, and when it has told its possessor that the owner of that voice is near enough to be seen, slowly the great head is raised and turned the least little bit to the right side, and the eyes, but a moment since so dull and sleepy,--so oblivious of surrounding affairs,--begin to beam with a wonderful softness. Now comes dancing along a little girl about four years of age, with brown curls waving and brown eyes sparkling. A little girl who _never_ walks; she skips and she prances, she jumps and she dances, as she holds her mother’s hand, and, I had better add, she chatters incessantly. No wonder Jack has heard her. She comes up from behind him very quietly and says softly, “Good-morning, dear old Jack!” Jack hitches a step or two closer to the sidewalk and waits; for Jack is a sly old fellow, and he knows it would never do to turn too quickly, and so spoil this pleasant little game of peek-a-boo. “Who loves sugar, and how many lumps have I in my pocket for somebody?” The word “sugar” has broken the charm, and Jack can no longer resist. The big, soft head comes down to the little girl’s outstretched arms and snuggles close up to her--so close that one passing by stops to say, “Oh, that horse will surely hurt that child.” But Big Jack and Wee Winkles understand each other too well, and the great creature’s gentleness is a very beautiful lesson. “Now, Jack,” she continues, “before we can have any sugar we must shake hands.”