This was what Bud had been listening for. This was the treat of the week for him--to ride to meetin' with the Bishop. Bud, a slubber-slave--henpecked at home, brow-beaten and cowed at the mill, timid, scared, "an' powerful slow-mouthed," as his spouse termed it, worshipped the old Bishop and had no greater pleasure in life, after his hard week's work, than "to ride to meetin' with the old man an' jes' hear him narrate."
The Bishop's great, sympathetic soul went out to the poor fellow, and though he had rather spend the next two miles of Ben Butler's slow journey to church in thinking over his sermon, he never failed, as he termed it, "to pick up charity even on the roadside," and it was pretty to see how the old man would turn loose his crude histrionic talent to amuse the slubber. He knew, too, that Bud was foolish about horses, and that Ben Butler was his model!
They got into the old buggy, and Ben Butler began to draw it slowly along the sandy road to the little church, two miles away up the mountain side.
Bud was now in a seventh heaven. He was riding behind Ben Butler, the greatest horse in the world, and talking to the Bishop, the only person who ever heard the sound of his voice, save in deprecatory and scary grunts.
It was touching to see how the old man humored the simple and imposed-upon creature at his side. It was beautiful to see how, forgetting himself and his sermon, he prepared to entertain, in his quaint way, this slave to the slubbing machine.
Bud looked fondly at the Bishop--then admiringly at Ben Butler. He drew a long breath of pure air, and sitting on the edge of the seat, prepared to jump if necessary; for Bud was mortally afraid of being in a runaway, and his scared eyes seemed to be looking for the soft places in the road.
"Bishop," he drawled after a while, "huc-cum you name sech a hoss"--pointing to the old roan--"sech a grand hoss, for sech a man--sech a man as he was," he added humbly.
"Did you ever notice Ben Butler's eyes, Bud?" asked the old man, knowingly.
"Blind," said Bud sadly, shaking his head--"too bad--too bad--great--great hoss!"
"Yes, but the leds, Bud--that hoss, Ben Butler there, holds a world's record--he's the only cock-eyed hoss in the world."