There was an old man, too, who used to come up our street with a little coal cart; he wore a coal-heavers
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 mans 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.