9
But they are summoning me to take my place in the stable where
the lessons are given. It is a small room, empty and bare, with
peat-moss litter bedding and white-washed walls. The horse is
separated from the people present by breast-high wooden
partitions. Opposite the four-legged scholar is a black-board,
nailed to the wall; and on one side a corn-bin which forms a seat
for the spectators. Muhamed is led in. Krall, who is a little
nervous, makes no secret of his uneasiness. His horses are fickle
animals, uncertain, capricious and extremely sensitive. A trifle
disturbs them, confuses them, puts them off. At such times,
threats, prayers and even the irresistible charm of carrots and
good rye-bread are useless. They obstinately refuse to do any
work and they answer at random. Everything depends on a whim, the
state of the weather, the morning meal or the impression which
the visitor makes upon them. Still, Krall seems to know, by
certain imperceptible signs, that this is not going to be a bad
day. Muhamed quivered with excitement, snorts loudly through his
nostrils, utters a series of indistinct little whinnyings:
excellent symptoms, it appears. I take my seat on the corn-bin.
The master, standing beside the black-board, chalk in hand,
introduces me to Muhamed in due form, as to a human being:
"Muhamed, attention! This is your uncle"--pointing to me--"who
has come all the way to honour you with a visit.
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