She was the first one to pick herself up. In fact she was the only one to do it, as Ethel was several rods away and almost too frightened to stir. “Quick, Mis. Vernon, come and sit on his head.” Ethel told me that she did not like the idea at all, but it was a case that called for but one decision. The horse had been loaned to her and if she could save its life by sitting on its head she meant to do it, although she did hope that Minerva would relieve her from time to time. “I thought we’d divide it up into watches,” she told me, “and I did hope that some wood team would come along soon.” The horse struggled to rise, but as the hill was steep he found it hard to do and in a minute my wife had seated herself as elegantly as she could on his head, and probably smoothed her skirts over her shoe tops after the manner of womankind. Minerva, her spirits ebullient as soon as she saw that no damage had been done, went off into a roar of laughter at the quaint spectacle of Ethel using a horse as a sort of couch. “I wonder if it hurts him?” said Ethel. “’Deed no. You ain’t heavy enough.” “Well, if I get tired I’ll want you to come.” “Lawdy, I’d smash him. He won’t need me.” “Is anyone coming?” “No’m.” “Well, isn’t this too vexing? There are those two men coming.” “Where?” said Minerva, looking up and down the road. “No, I mean on the train. Of course they can hire a team, but it is awfully vexing to have this happen.” “Yas’m. Shall I get you an apple?” Without waiting for an answer Minerva climbed a rail fence—not without difficulty—and picked up several red astrachans that lay just beyond it. Then she essayed to return, but this time she got caught when half way over and could not extricate herself. “Mis. Vernon, I’m stuck. Somep’n caught my dress. Come an’ help me.” “Oh! _Dear!_ I can’t help you. I can’t leave this horse for a minute. There’s no telling what might happen. Isn’t this awful?” “’Deed it is. Never did think much of that ould scut. What is an ould scut, Mis. Vernon?” “Oh, it’s just a pet name. Irish people are very affectionate.” “Never get _my_ affections,” said Minerva, race prejudice cropping out even in her predicament. All the while she was trying to free herself, and at last she tore herself loose, sacrificing a part of her skirt, and rolled over the fence, the apples scattering in front of her as if in a panic. But once over she gathered them up and handed one to Ethel, who leaned back along the forehead of her animal sofa and gave herself up to the delights of eating.