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1I well remember one spring evening I and Rory had been out for the day. (Rory was the horse that mostly went with me
2when a pair was ordered, and a good honest fellow he was.) We had our own driver, and as he was always considerate and
3gentle with us, we had a very pleasant day. We were coming home at a good smart pace, about twilight. Our road turned
4sharp to the left; but as we were close to the hedge on our own side, and there was plenty of room to pass, our driver
5did not pull us in. As we neared the corner I heard a horse and two wheels coming rapidly down the hill toward us. The
6hedge was high, and I could see nothing, but the next moment we were upon each other. Happily for me, I was on the side
7next the hedge. Rory was on the left side of the pole, and had not even a shaft to protect him. The man who was driving
8was making straight for the corner, and when he came in sight of us he had no time to pull over to his own side. The
9whole shock came upon Rory. The gig shaft ran right into the chest, making him stagger back with a cry that I shall
10never forget. The other horse was thrown upon his haunches and one shaft broken. It turned out that it was a horse from
11our own stables, with the high-wheeled gig that the young men were so fond of. The driver was one of those random,
12ignorant fellows, who don't even know which is their own side of the road, or, if they know, don't care. And there was
13poor Rory with his flesh torn open and bleeding, and the blood streaming down. They said if it had been a little more to
14one side it would have killed him; and a good thing for him, poor fellow, if it had. As it was, it was a long time
15before the wound healed, and then he was sold for coal-carting; and what that is, up and down those steep hills, only
16horses know. Some of the sights I saw there, where a horse had to come downhill with a heavily loaded two-wheel cart
17behind him, on which no brake could be placed, make me sad even now to think of. After Rory was disabled I often went in
18the carriage with a mare named Peggy, who stood in the next stall to mine. She was a strong, well-made animal, of a
19bright dun color, beautifully dappled, and with a dark-brown mane and tail. There was no high breeding about her, but
20she was very pretty and remarkably sweet-tempered and willing. Still, there was an anxious look about her eye, by which
21I knew that she had some trouble. The first time we went out together I thought she had a very odd pace; she seemed to
22go partly a trot, partly a canter, three or four paces, and then a little jump forward. It was very unpleasant for any
23horse who pulled with her, and made me quite fidgety. When we got home I asked her what made her go in that odd, awkward
24way. "Ah," she said in a troubled manner, "I know my paces are very bad, but what can I do? It really is not my fault;
25it is just because my legs are so short. I stand nearly as high as you, but your legs are a good three inches longer
26above your knee than mine, and of course you can take a much longer step and go much faster. You see I did not make
27myself. I wish I could have done so; I would have had long legs then. All my troubles come from my short legs," said
28Peggy, in a desponding tone. "But how is it," I said, "when you are so strong and good-tempered and willing?" "Why, you
29see," said she, "men will go so fast, and if one can't keep up to other horses it is nothing but whip, whip, whip, all
30the time. And so I have had to keep up as I could, and have got into this ugly shuffling pace. It was not always so;
31when I lived with my first master I always went a good regular trot, but then he was not in such a hurry. He was a young
32clergyman in the country, and a good, kind master he was. He had two churches a good way apart, and a great deal of
33work, but he never scolded or whipped me for not going faster. He was very fond of me. I only wish I was with him now;
34but he had to leave and go to a large town, and then I was sold to a farmer. "Some farmers, you know, are capital
35masters; but I think this one was a low sort of man. He cared nothing about good horses or good driving; he only cared
36for going fast. I went as fast as I could, but that would not do, and he was always whipping; so I got into this way of
37making a spring forward to keep up. On market nights he used to stay very late at the inn, and then drive home at a
38gallop. "One dark night he was galloping home as usual, when all of a sudden the wheel came against some great heavy
39thing in the road, and turned the gig over in a minute. He was thrown out and his arm broken, and some of his ribs, I
40think. At any rate, it was the end of my living with him, and I was not sorry. But you see it will be the same
41everywhere for me, if men must go so fast. I wish my legs were longer!" Poor Peggy! I was very sorry for her, and I
42could not comfort her, for I knew how hard it was upon slow-paced horses to be put with fast ones; all the whipping
43comes to their share, and they can't help it. She was often used in the phaeton, and was very much liked by some of the
44ladies, because she was so gentle; and some time after this she was sold to two ladies who drove themselves, and wanted
45a safe, good horse. I met her several times out in the country, going a good steady pace, and looking as gay and
46contented as a horse could be. I was very glad to see her, for she deserved a good place. After she left us another
47horse came in her stead. He was young, and had a bad name for shying and starting, by which he had lost a good place. I
48asked him what made him shy. "Well, I hardly know," he said. "I was timid when I was young, and was a good deal
49frightened several times, and if I saw anything strange I used to turn and look at it--you see, with our blinkers one
50can't see or understand what a thing is unless one looks round--and then my master always gave me a whipping, which of
51course made me start on, and did not make me less afraid. I think if he would have let me just look at things quietly,
52and see that there was nothing to hurt me, it would have been all right, and I should have got used to them. One day an
53old gentleman was riding with him, and a large piece of white paper or rag blew across just on one side of me. I shied
54and started forward. My master as usual whipped me smartly, but the old man cried out, 'You're wrong! you're wrong! You
55should never whip a horse for shying; he shies because he is frightened, and you only frighten him more and make the
56habit worse.' So I suppose all men don't do so. I am sure I don't want to shy for the sake of it; but how should one
57know what is dangerous and what is not, if one is never allowed to get used to anything? I am never afraid of what I
58know. Now I was brought up in a park where there were deer; of course I knew them as well as I did a sheep or a cow, but
59they are not common, and I know many sensible horses who are frightened at them, and who kick up quite a shindy before
60they will pass a paddock where there are deer." I knew what my companion said was true, and I wished that every young
61horse had as good masters as Farmer Grey and Squire Gordon.
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