Read Online King of the Wind by Marguerite Henry - Free Book Online
Authors: Marguerite Henry
Tags: Ages 9 & Up
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stood up and lashed it across the horse’s ears. He shouted and cursed.
“You tom-noddy! You puny nag! Back up, you beast of a carthorse!”
Icicles were forming on Sham’s feelers, yet his body was wet with sweat. He backed up. He lowered his head, and as the whip struck him, he made a snatching pull. The load moved, and as if by some supernatural power Sham kept on going up the incline. When almost at the top, however, his forefeet began slipping. He clawed with them. The whip snarledand cracked. It cut deep into his hide. Groaning, he tried again, and again. His veins swelled to bursting.
In spite of the bitter weather passers-by stopped to watch. A water-carrier set down his yoke, and stepped forward as if to protest. But one look at the livid face of the carter stopped him.
Sham was sucking for breath, his nostrils going in and out, showing the red lining. Once more he threw himself against the collar of his harness. He struggled to keep his footing. The onlookers were pulling with him, breathing heavily, tensing their muscles as one man, straining, straining to help. But it was no use. With a low moan, Sham fell to his knees.
A great crowd had gathered and a collection of dogs began barking as the carter jerked the reins, trying to lift Sham up by sheer force. But he was caught fast between the shafts of the cart. His eyes were wild and white-ringed with fear, his mouth bleeding.
Leaping to the paving stones the carter braced the cart with a log. “Now,” he yelled to the crowd, “I’ll take my own faggots and build a fire under his tail. That’ll make the stubborn beast rise!”
As he was reaching for his faggots, an Englishman of stately bearing made his way into the crowd. He wore the collarless black coat and the broad-brimmed black hat of a Quaker. Although his garments and manner were sober, there was a fiery look in his eye.
“My friend,” he addressed the carter in perfect French, “I have long wanted a quiet old horse.” Opening his greatcoat he drew from his inner pocket a handful of gold. “I am prepared,” he said coolly, “to offer fifteen louis for the creature.”
At sight of the gold the carter’s mouth went agape. A greedy light leaped into his eyes. He dropped the faggots. “Fifteen louis for a done-up nag?” he asked incredulously.
“Aye, friend,” the Quaker nodded. “I have need of a smallish horse for my son-in-law, Benjamin Biggle.”
Even the onlookers were round-eyed now. Why, fifteen louis would buy a fine, high-stepping hackney!
“I suppose ye want my cart and my wood, too,” the carter sniveled.
“I want only the horse,” the Quaker replied. “I am Jethro Coke of London and didst thou know me, thou wouldst make thy decision quickly. Unharness the poor brute or I may change my mind.”
The carter laughed roughly and gave his whip into Jethro Coke’s hands. With one eye on the gold he turned to unfasten Sham. But he was too late. A slim brown boy had come seemingly from nowhere at all and was kneeling at the horse’s feet, unhitching his harness. What surprised the crowd even more was to see a tiger cat poke his head out of the boy’s hood and begin to lick the horse’s face.
Such a laughter and a clapping went up that it sounded more like an audience at a puppet show than a group of early morning citizens on their way to the day’s tasks.
14. Benjamin Biggle Goes for a Ride
T HE QUAKER, Jethro Coke, was a retired merchant who owned a parcel of land on the outskirts of London. The plight of the over-burdened horse had moved him to action. Now he saw a boy who also needed help.
“At the foot of a wooded hill,” he told Agba, “I’ve an olden barn. It has not heard the whinny of a horse nor the cushioned footfalls of a cat for many a year. Thou and thy cat, too, will be welcome there. The poor broken-down horse has need of you both.”
And so, within less than a week, Sham and Agba and Grimalkin were on their way to England.
When Agba
“You tom-noddy! You puny nag! Back up, you beast of a carthorse!”
Icicles were forming on Sham’s feelers, yet his body was wet with sweat. He backed up. He lowered his head, and as the whip struck him, he made a snatching pull. The load moved, and as if by some supernatural power Sham kept on going up the incline. When almost at the top, however, his forefeet began slipping. He clawed with them. The whip snarledand cracked. It cut deep into his hide. Groaning, he tried again, and again. His veins swelled to bursting.
In spite of the bitter weather passers-by stopped to watch. A water-carrier set down his yoke, and stepped forward as if to protest. But one look at the livid face of the carter stopped him.
Sham was sucking for breath, his nostrils going in and out, showing the red lining. Once more he threw himself against the collar of his harness. He struggled to keep his footing. The onlookers were pulling with him, breathing heavily, tensing their muscles as one man, straining, straining to help. But it was no use. With a low moan, Sham fell to his knees.
A great crowd had gathered and a collection of dogs began barking as the carter jerked the reins, trying to lift Sham up by sheer force. But he was caught fast between the shafts of the cart. His eyes were wild and white-ringed with fear, his mouth bleeding.
Leaping to the paving stones the carter braced the cart with a log. “Now,” he yelled to the crowd, “I’ll take my own faggots and build a fire under his tail. That’ll make the stubborn beast rise!”
As he was reaching for his faggots, an Englishman of stately bearing made his way into the crowd. He wore the collarless black coat and the broad-brimmed black hat of a Quaker. Although his garments and manner were sober, there was a fiery look in his eye.
“My friend,” he addressed the carter in perfect French, “I have long wanted a quiet old horse.” Opening his greatcoat he drew from his inner pocket a handful of gold. “I am prepared,” he said coolly, “to offer fifteen louis for the creature.”
At sight of the gold the carter’s mouth went agape. A greedy light leaped into his eyes. He dropped the faggots. “Fifteen louis for a done-up nag?” he asked incredulously.
“Aye, friend,” the Quaker nodded. “I have need of a smallish horse for my son-in-law, Benjamin Biggle.”
Even the onlookers were round-eyed now. Why, fifteen louis would buy a fine, high-stepping hackney!
“I suppose ye want my cart and my wood, too,” the carter sniveled.
“I want only the horse,” the Quaker replied. “I am Jethro Coke of London and didst thou know me, thou wouldst make thy decision quickly. Unharness the poor brute or I may change my mind.”
The carter laughed roughly and gave his whip into Jethro Coke’s hands. With one eye on the gold he turned to unfasten Sham. But he was too late. A slim brown boy had come seemingly from nowhere at all and was kneeling at the horse’s feet, unhitching his harness. What surprised the crowd even more was to see a tiger cat poke his head out of the boy’s hood and begin to lick the horse’s face.
Such a laughter and a clapping went up that it sounded more like an audience at a puppet show than a group of early morning citizens on their way to the day’s tasks.
14. Benjamin Biggle Goes for a Ride
T HE QUAKER, Jethro Coke, was a retired merchant who owned a parcel of land on the outskirts of London. The plight of the over-burdened horse had moved him to action. Now he saw a boy who also needed help.
“At the foot of a wooded hill,” he told Agba, “I’ve an olden barn. It has not heard the whinny of a horse nor the cushioned footfalls of a cat for many a year. Thou and thy cat, too, will be welcome there. The poor broken-down horse has need of you both.”
And so, within less than a week, Sham and Agba and Grimalkin were on their way to England.
When Agba
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