It is not strange, then, that the good man and the good horse had become
almost one in mind and body, and that they were quite one in spirit. It
is not in the least strange, certainly, that Toby came to know the
nature of their errand almost as well and nearly as quickly as Father
Orin himself. He easily knew a sick call by the haste with which they
set out, and he knew its urgency by their going with the messenger. He
seemed to be able to tell unerringly when they were bearing the
Viaticum, and it was plain that he felt the responsibility thus resting
upon his speed and sureness of foot. Then it was that he would go like
the wind, through utter darkness, through storm and flood and over an
icy earth, without a pause or a misstep. Many a time, after such a
struggle as this, has Toby turned his head, as if trying to see why
Father Orin was slow in doing his part when the rain, freezing as it
fell, had frozen the priest's poor overcoat to the saddle, and his
ragged leggins were heavy and clumsy with icicles. But the apologetic
tone in which Father Orin always said, "Well, here we are, old man," and
the explanatory pat that he always gave Toby's neck, after going through
the respectful form of hitching him, never failed to make this right.
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