"I wonder what they are going to do now?" marveled Phil.
"This surely doesn't look much like breakfast coming my way,
and I'm almost famished."
The leader of the party let down the bars of the farmyard,
conducting his guests around behind a large hay barn, into an
enclosed space, in the center of which stood a straw stack,
the stack and yard being surrounded by barns and sheds.
"Where are you fellows taking me? Going to put me in the stable
with the live stock?" questioned Phil, laughingly.
"You want some breakfast, eh?"
"Certainly I do, but I'm afraid I can't eat hay."
The men laughed uproariously at this bit of humor.
"Must be a clown," suggested one.
"No, I am not a clown. My little friend who performs with me,
and comes from the same town I do, is one. I wish he were here.
He would make you laugh until you couldn't stand without leaning
against something."
"Here, Joe! Here, Joe!" their guide began calling in a loud
voice, alternating with loud whistling.
Phil heard a rustling over behind the straw stack, and then out
trotted a big, black draft horse, a heavy-footed, broad-backed
Percheron, to his astonishment.
"My, that's a fine piece of horse flesh," glowed the lad.
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