large/5636/withumor_america_v2_1103_librivox_64kb_mp3/witandhumorofamerica02_40_various_64kb_148
large/5636/withumor_america_v2_1103_librivox_64kb_mp3/witandhumorofamerica02_40_various_64kb
English
5636
"I wonder what for kind of anchel he'd make, anyhow? And Betz  they'll have to go together. Say, I wonder if it _is_ horse anchels?" No one knew; no one offered a suggestion. I WONDER WHAT KIND OF ANGEL HE'D MAKE ANYHOW AND BETS THEY'D HAVE TO GO TOGETHER SAY I WONDER IF IT IS HORSE ANGELS NO ONE KNEW NO ONE OFFERED HIS SUGGESTION
--and then laughed joyously. If there had been an artist eye to see they would have been well worth its while--Seffy and the mare so affectionately disparaged. And, after all, I am not sure that the speaker himself had not an artist's eye. For a spring pasture, or a fallow upland, or a drove of goodly cows deep in his clover, I know he had. (Perhaps you, too, have?) And this was his best mare and his only son. The big bay, clad in broad-banded harness, soft with oil and glittering with brasses, was shambling indolently down the hill, resisting her own momentum by the diagonal motion the old man had likened to a dog's sidewise trot. The looped trace-chains were jingling a merry dithyramb, her head was nodding, her tail swaying, and Seffy, propped by his elbow on her broad back, one leg swung between the hames, the other keeping time on her ribs, was singing: "'I want to be an angel And with the angels stand, A crown upon my forehead A harp within my hand--'" His adoring father chuckled. TORE PORCH JUST HOW A SIDEWAYS DOG WOULD BE LIKELY TO TROT ON A HOT SUMMER'S DAY AND THEN LAUGH JOYOUSLY IF THERE HAD BEEN AN ARTIST'S EYE TO SEE THEY WOULD HAVE BEEN WELL WORTH ITS WHILE SEFFIE AND THE MARE SO AFFECTIONATELY DISPARAGED AND AFTER ALL I AM NOT SURE THAT THE SPEAKER HIMSELF HAD NOT AN ARTIST EYE FOR A SPRING PASTURE OR A FALLOW UPLAND OR A DROVE OF GOODLY COWS DEEP IN HIS CLOVER I KNOW HE HAD PERHAPS YOU TWO HAVE AND THIS WAS HIS BEST MARE AND HIS ONLY SON THE BIG BAY CLAD IN BROAD BANDED HARNESS SOFT WITH OIL AND GLITTERING WITH BRASSES WAS SHAMBLING INDOLENTLY DOWN THE HILL RESISTING HER OWN MOMENTUM BY THE DIAGONAL MOTION THE OLD MAN HAD LIKENED TO A DOG SIDEWAYS TROT THE LOOP TRACE CHAINS WERE JINGLING A MERRY DID HER HEAD WAS NODDING HER TAIL SWINGING PROPPED BY HIS ELBOW ON HER BROAD BACK ONE LEG SWUNG BETWEEN THE HANDS THE OTHER ONE KEEPING TIME ON HER RIBS WAS SINGING I WANT TO BE AN ANGEL AND WITH THE ANGEL STAND OUTGROWNED UPON MY FOREHEAD A HARP WITHIN MY HAND
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