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William T. Cox's
“ T H E    H O D A G    A N D   O T H E R   T A L E S    O F   T H E   L O G G I N G   C A M P S ”
(  90th  A N N I V E R S A R Y    H Y P E R T E X T   E D I T I O N  )
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in the woods. A white collie lay on the porch. He stretched lazily as he rose to his feet, as his alert ears caught the creaking of a wagon long before it came in sight. With a joyful bark, he ran to meet the team that was slowly approaching. The driver seemed to have gone past the point where appearances mattered to him. The harness on the horses was clumsily fixed here and there with wire and twine. The wheels of the wagon were badly dished and covered with mud, having the appearance of chariot wheels. The man himself was of the same pattern, his open shirt revealing the fact of a long estrangement between the wearer and soap and water. His soft felt hat had suffered the wear and tear of many seasons. Tradition said that the hat had once been gray but that was so long before that like other traditions, it might not have been entirely reliable. There was no disguising the fact that the hat was dirty.
    The horses stopped of their own accord as they reached the broken gate, which had long since fallen from its hinges and was now propped up against the posts in an almost upright position. The driver, Anthony Doyle, the man of all x
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work for the Mclntyres, descended slowly from the wagon seat which was made of two long, springy poles attached to the sides of the wagon box. The poles were a makeshift but answered for a spring seat. Anthony had come to this country and a few years later had begun working for Phil McIntyre and was almost as much attached to the family as if he had been one of them.
    Having descended from the wagon, he started to move the gate. To do this, it was necessary for him to lift it bodily, but this did not seem to inconvenience him any. When the gate was moved, the team went on alone, without urging and halted before the stable door, ready to be unhitched. Having put the gate back in position, Anthony unhitched the horses and led them to the watering trough.
    One could not help but notice that the man was a lover of horses, for his hand strayed to the head of the nearest horse and the latter responded to the familiar touch, showing that there was a bond of understanding between man and beast.
    Looking up from the horses, Anthony saw me sitting on the porch and called a cheery welcome to me, he made x
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