Old Jack was a very intelligent horse. He would always come when he
heard his name called, let him be ever so far distant in the pasture;
that is, if he had a mind to come. Of course, being a gentleman of
discernment, he sometimes chose to stay where he was, and enjoy his
walk. This was especially the case when the grass was very green, and
when the person who came for him chanced to be a little green also. Jack
had his faults, it cannot be denied, and among them, perhaps the most
prominent one was a strong aversion to being caught by any body but my
father, whom he seemed to regard as having the sole right to summon him
from the pasture. I used occasionally to try my hand at catching him. In
fact, I succeeded several times, by stratagem only. I carried a measure
containing a few gills of oats with me into the field; and his love for
oats was so much stronger than his dislike of the catching process, that
I secured him. But after a while the old fellow became too cunning for
me. He came to the conclusion that the quantity of his favorite dish was
too small to warrant him in sacrificing his freedom. He had some
knowledge of arithmetic, you see. Certainly he must have cyphered as
far as loss and gain. One day I went into the pasture with my bridle
concealed behind me, and just about enough oats to cover the bottom of
my measure, and advanced carefully toward the spot where old Jack was
quietly grazing in the meadow.
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