They had come by steamer to
Portland; and the old Squire, with two hired men, went down to get them.
He and the men drove six of them home, hitched to a new express wagon,
and led the other ten behind.
The horses were great, docile creatures, with shaggy, clumsy legs, hoofs
as big as dinner plates, and fetlocks six inches long. Later we had to
shear their legs, because the long hair loaded up so badly with snow.
Several of them were light red in color, and had crinkly manes and
tails; and three or four weighed as much as sixteen hundred pounds
apiece. Each horse had its name, age, and weight on a tag. I still
remember some of the names. There was Duncan, Ducie, Trube, Lill, Skibo,
Sally, Prince, and one called William-le-Bon.
They reached us in October, but we were several weeks getting them
paired in spans and ready to go up into the woods for the winter's work.
The first snow that fall caught us in the midst of "housing-time," but
fine weather followed it, so that we were able to finish our farmwork
and get ready for winter.
Housing-time! How many memories of late fall at the old farm cling to
that word! It is one of those homely words that dictionary makers have
overlooked, and refers to those two or three weeks when you are making
everything snug at the farm for freezing weather and winter snow; when
you bring the sheep and young cattle home from the pasture, do the last
fall ploughing, and dig the last rows of potatoes; when you bank
sawdust, dead leaves or boughs round the barns and the farmhouse; when
you get firewood under cover, and screw on storm windows and hang storm
doors.
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