One pounced on a fowl; another lamed the pig; a trio put the cat up a peach-tree; one with a thirst mounted the water-cask and looked down it, while the bulk of the brutes trotted inside and disputed with Mother who should open the safe.
Dad loosed our three, and pleased they were to feel themselves free.
They had been chained up all the week, with scarcely anything to eat.
Dad did n't believe in too much feeding.

He had had wide experience in dogs and coursing "at home" on his grandfather's large estates, and always found them fleetest when empty.

OURS ought to have been fleet as locomotives.
Dave, showing a neat seat, rode out of the yard on Bess, fresh and fat and fit to run for a kingdom.

They awaited Dad.

He was standing beside HIS mount--Farmer, the plough-horse, who was arrayed in winkers with green-hide reins, and an old saddle with only one flap.