You see I did not make myself. I wish I could have done so;I would have had long legs then. All my troubles come from my short legs,"said Peggy, in a desponding tone.
"But how is it," I said, "when you are so strong and good-tempered and willing?""Why, you see," 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 the 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; when 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 clergyman in the country, and a good, kind master he was.
He had two churches a good way apart, and a great deal of work, 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;but he had to leave and go to a large town, and then I was sold to a farmer.
"Some farmers, you know, are capital masters; but I think this one was a low sort of man. He cared nothing about good horses or good driving;he only cared for 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 making a spring forward to keep up. On market nights he used to stay very late at the inn, and then drive home at a gallop.
"One dark night he was galloping home as usual, when all of a sudden the wheel came against some great heavy thing 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 think. 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 everywhere for me, if men must go so fast. I wish my legs were longer!"Poor Peggy! I was very sorry for her, and I could not comfort her, for I knew how hard it was upon slow-paced horses to be put with fast ones;all the whipping comes 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 ladies, because she was so gentle; and some time after this she was sold to two ladies who drove themselves, and wanted a safe, good horse.
I met her several times out in the country, going a good steady pace, and looking as gay and contented as a horse could be. I was very glad to see her, for she deserved a good place.
After she left us another horse 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 asked him what made him shy.
"Well, I hardly know," he said. "I was timid when I was young, and was a good deal frightened several times, and if I saw anything strange I used to turn and look at it -- you see, with our blinkers one can't see or understand what a thing is unless one looks round --and then my master always gave me a whipping, which of course made me start on, and did not make me less afraid. I think if he would have let me just look at things quietly, and 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 old gentleman was riding with him, and a large piece of white paper or rag blew across just on one side of me.
I shied and started forward. My master as usual whipped me smartly, but the old man cried out, `You're wrong! you're wrong!
You should never whip a horse for shying; he shies because he is frightened, and you only frighten him more and make the habit 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 know what is dangerous and what is not, if one is never allowed to get used to anything?
I am never afraid of what I know. 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 they are not common, and I know many sensible horses who are frightened at them, and who kick up quite a shindy before they will pass a paddock where there are deer."I knew what my companion said was true, and I wished that every young horse had as good masters as Farmer Grey and Squire Gordon.
Of course we sometimes came in for good driving here. I remember one morning I was put into the light gig, and taken to a house in Pulteney Street.
Two gentlemen came out; the taller of them came round to my head;he looked at the bit and bridle, and just shifted the collar with his hand, to see if it fitted comfortably.
"Do you consider this horse wants a curb?" he said to the hostler.
"Well," said the man, "I should say he would go just as well without;he has an uncommon good mouth, and though he has a fine spirit he has no vice; but we generally find people like the curb.""I don't like it," said the gentleman; "be so good as to take it off, and put the rein in at the cheek. An easy mouth is a great thing on a long journey, is it not, old fellow?" he said, patting my neck.
Then he took the reins, and they both got up. I can remember now how quietly he turned me round, and then with a light feel of the rein, and drawing the whip gently across my back, we were off.
I arched my neck and set off at my best pace. I found I had some one behind me who knew how a good horse ought to be driven.
It seemed like old times again, and made me feel quite gay.
This gentleman took a great liking to me, and after trying me several times with the saddle he prevailed upon my master to sell me to a friend of his, who wanted a safe, pleasant horse for riding.
And so it came to pass that in the summer I was sold to Mr. Barry.
