A HAPPY ISSUE

Evening Star, Issue 22805, 13 November 1937, Page 22

A HAPPY ISSUE

OUT OF MANY AFFLICTIONS [Written by M.E.S., for the ' Evening Star.’] When winter stalked early into the hills this year the old mare shivered and looked out at tho greying paddocks with hopeless eyes. She knew what to expect in the months to come, knew all about the harsh, unremitting cold, the biting sleet storms, the hard, long nights of frost; knew, too, that there would bo added to these miseries that last, worst hardship for an old horse—an cver-incrcasing shortage of feed. For who could expect a fanner to waste hay on a worn-out old maro when he had a herd of dairy cows to feed? It was only reasonable to keep such a derelict in tile poorer parts of the rough hill farm, where tho grass was petering out and giving place everywhere to hutuwai and fern. “ Horses are tho only things that will eat bidi-hid; let her stay there. After all, she’s done. She scarcely earns her tucker now. She can take her chance and eat down the rubbish.” To tell tho truth, the work the old marc managed to accomplish nowadays was little enough—helping to drag tho harrows, sledging firewood, pulling an occasional load of posts. There were two strong draughts on the place, so that there was really no need for her, and the farmer was wont to lament his own soft-heartedness in grazing her at all. Ho had taken her in the first place in xmyment of a bad debt, fully expecting to realise his £5 quickly; but that was in the slump years, when you could scarcely give old horses away, and at last he had grown tired of taking her to sales and seeing her passed in, with no hid at all. For, although she had breeding and had been a fine mare in her day, it took only a glance to see all her 20 years and that many of these years had been hard ones. She looked, too, as if she realised her own worthlessness, standing with head hung down and lower lip pitifully drooping until she was led impatiently out of the ring and hack to her starvation paddock on, tho hill farm. A DREARY WINTER, So the mare knew well enough what to expect when the early April frosts began to cut the grass down. On the whole, despite the damage they did to feed, she preferred the frosts to any other of winter’s moods. At least they were usually followed by warm sunshine, when an old horse could doze in a sheltered corner, resting first one stiff leg, now another. Yes, such days had their good points, for when you were warm you could forget for a time that gnawing emptiness of hunger, could forget everything except the kindly heat that put fresh life into you and helped you to endure the ordeal of bitter cold that would inevitably fitflow in the long night watches. Therefore tho old mare made the best of things in April, living for the moment and ignoring the cold, wet months ahead. And then a miracle happened. One day the farmer came and led her out of her bleak, grey paddock into a sheltered and favoured spot, where the working draughts were kept. Here the grass was good and recently topdressed, and a high hedge gave abundant shelter from storms. Scarcely had she got through the gate, when the old mare’s head went down, and she snatched feverishly with her almost toothless jaws at the long, sweet grass, scarcely touched as yet by the frost that had blanched her own < poor pasture. “ There you are, old girl. Put on some condition. I don’t grudge you the feed, since horses are up and I can see my £5 ahead—and with interest; too. Make a beast of yourself for a few months.” It was not, perhaps, a gracious invitation, but tho old horse had no pride left; all she cared was to he able, after many hungry months, to eat her fill. But it did not even end there; actually, for the first time in the six years she had spent on that farm she was rugged. Certainly the cover was an old one, discarded by one of the working horses, torn in. places and tied with ropes instead of straps. But she did not mind that; instead she luxuriated in the beautiful warmth and dryness in frost and rain. BETTER TIMES. Because her constitution had been remarkably sound, she rallied marvellously under this treatment and presently began positively to enjoy life. The winter that had always brought her so much suffering was now one long holiday, so that sho dreamed of renewing her youth, of presently dragging great loads as she had once been proud to do, and of becoming again the most treasured horse on the farm. The other horses laughed at this, but in the kindly, tolerant way that is characteristic of great draughts. “ Poohl You couldn’t pull a good load of hay by yourself. Stop boasting and make the best of your good time. It mayn’t last for over.” It didn’t, although it endured until winter was gone and spring upon the laud._ Then the fanner came one sad day into the paddock and put a halter on the old mare. Ho spoke goodnaturedly enough as he led her away. “ Off to the sale again, old girl. You’re looking in good fettle. I ought to get rid of you this time. Draught horses are soaring, and some fool will take a fancy to you. And why not? If anyone wants a foal or two, they might do worse.” Having thus convinced himself that he was doing the unknown buyer a good turn, the farmer set out on the long 20-milo trip to the first horse fair of the season. It was a long and painful journey for broken and unshod hooves, but he led her slowly, keeping her off the metal and being very careful not to lame her or knock Jier up. “No use landing you there a cripple. You’ve got to look your best to-day or back yon go into the rough paddock for good.” For lie told himself that even a philanthropist must remember to be practical. As soon as the old mare entered the market town sho realised what was before her, for she had frequented scenes of this sort only too often. She recognised the stir and hustle of the usually quiet streets, the familiar sight of numbers of horses of every breed and ago being led with an unwonted tenderness and concern by their owners; she had seen that crowd of buyers before, knew the interest with which every new arrival was scrutinised, the mixture of bluff and business, of shrewdness and laughter, which is tho invariable but indefinable atmosphere of a horse fair. A PROSPEROUS SALE.

At the sight and the sound, tho old mare’s head drooped disconsolately. She knew all about it. Presently they would lead her into the ring and the men would look at her apathetically, would turn and talk to each other, while the auctioneer, his voice rising in passionate protest, would begin; “ Who will bid me £lO for this grand old marc? Gentlemen, I’m not denying that she has a his of ago on her, but she’s a fine, useful worker for all that. £10? Then we’ll say seven. £5 for the good, useful marc. Gentlemen, will none of you offer me £1?” And then, almost in the same breath: She’s not wanted* Jim—lead, her

out.” It would he like that to-day, ending with a humiliating return to the farm where she was not wanted either. Yes, she knew all about salesBut not about sales like this, for to-day there was a new spirit in the air, a spirit of gaiety and prosperity which the old horse did not recognise. There was a buzz of excitement and hilarity, little murmurs of applause after each sale, eager knots of men round, the entries .Even round her. Yes, actually three or four men stroked her, lifted her legs, walked round liorj on© patted lier neck with so gentle a touch that the old head lifted. “ She’s a grand old mare. Look at that eye. She’ll do_ a little turn of work for me sometimes and rear me a bonny foal.” There was something in the voice that made her turn her head and nuzzle gently at the arm that was thrown across her neck. “ There, she agrees with me. Yes, I know her teeth are gone, but I’vo plenty of good feed for an old horse, and I like her.” That, thought the listening horse, was the only reason that really counted after all. But, wonder of wonders, other people liked her, too! Actually, they bid for her almost with a little show of spirit, with some genuine competition. When the auctioneer started—ambitiously, as auctioneers do, at £ls —there was the usual bleak silence, and her head drooped again; but when the price came down to £lO there was a bid—and sho saw her late owner start violently and expectorate with a great show of nonchalance. After considerable argument, she was knocked down for £l4 to the man who had said so conclusively, “ I like her.” As she was led out of the ring there was a great laugh because the old mare actually pranced a little, her head high, as if in conscious triumph. And the man who had sold her? Naturally enough, he repaired to tho nearest bar and there told at immense length the story of that bad debt, pointing the moral that it always pays to he kind to animals.