The stranger, whose name I afterwards learned was Peter Ketch, having examined Bullet to his heart’s content, ordered his son Neddy to go and bring up Kit. Neddy soon appeared upon Kit; a well-formed sorrel of the middle size, and in good order. His _tout ensemble_ threw Bullet entirely in the shade; though a glance was sufficient to satisfy any one, that Bullet had the decided advantage of him in point of intellect. “Why man,” said Blossom, “do you bring such a hoss as that to trade for Bullet? Oh, I see you’re no notion of trading.” “Ride him off, Neddy!” said Peter. Kit put off at a handsome lope. “Trot him back!” Kit came in at a long, sweeping trot, and stopt suddenly at the crowd. “Well,” said Blossom, “let me look at him; maybe he’ll do to plough.” “Examine him!” said Peter, taking hold of the bridle close to the mouth. “He’s nothing but a tacky. He an’t as _pretty_ a horse as Bullet, I know; but he’ll do. Start ’em together for a hundred and fifty _mile_; and if Kit an’t twenty mile ahead of him at the coming out, any man may take Kit for nothing. But he’s a monstrous mean horse, gentlemen; any man may see that. He’s the scariest horse, too, you ever saw. He won’t do to hunt on, no how. Stranger, will you let Neddy have your rifle to shoot off him? Lay the rifle between his ears, Neddy, and shoot at the blaze in that stump. Tell me when his head is high enough.” Ned fired, and hit the blaze: and Kit did not move a hair’s breadth. “Neddy, take a couple of sticks and beat on that hogshead at Kit’s tail.” Ned made a tremendous rattling; at which Bullet took fright, broke his bridle and dashed off in grand style; and would have stopt all farther negociations, by going home in disgust, had not a traveller arrested him and brought him back: but Kit did not move. “I tell you, gentlemen,” continued Peter, “he’s the scariest horse you ever saw. He an’t as gentle as Bullet; but he won’t do any harm if you watch him. Shall I put him in a cart, gig, or wagon for you, stranger? He’ll cut the same capers there he does here. He’s a monstrous mean horse.” During all this time, Blossom was examining him with the nicest scrutiny. Having examined his frame and limbs, he now looked at his eyes. “He’s got a curious look out of his eyes,” said Blossom. “Oh yes, Sir,” said Peter, “just as blind as a bat. Blind horses always have clear eyes. Make a motion at his eyes, if you please, Sir.” Blossom did so, and Kit threw up his head rather as if something pricked him under the chin, than as if fearing a blow. Blossom repeated the experiment, and Kit jirked back with considerable astonishment. “Stone blind, you see, gentlemen,” proceeded Peter; “but he’s just as good to travel of a dark night as if he had eyes.” “Blame my buttons,” said Blossom, “if I like them eyes.” “No,” said Peter, “nor I either. I’d rather have ’em made of diamonds; but they’ll do, if they don’t show as much white as Bullet’s.” “Well,” said Blossom, “make a pass at me.”