There was an old man, too, who used to come up our street with a little coal cart; he wore a coal-heaver’s hat, and looked rough and black. He and his old horse used to plod together along the street, like two good partners who understood each other; the horse would stop of his own accord at the doors where they took coal of him; he used to keep one ear bent toward his master. The old man’s cry could be heard up the street long before he came near. I never knew what he said, but the children called him “Old Ba- a-ar Hoo”, for it sounded like that. Polly took her coal of him, and was very friendly, and Jerry said it was a comfort to think how happy an old horse might be in a poor place.