had been a little more to one 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 before the wound healed, and then he was
sold for coal-carting; and what that is, up and down those steep hills,
only horses know. Some of the sights I saw there, where a horse had to
come downhill with a heavily loaded two-wheel cart behind him, on which
no brake could be placed, make me sad even now to think of.

After Rory was disabled I often went in the carriage with a mare named
Peggy, who stood in the next stall to mine. She was a strong, well-made
animal, of a bright dun color, beautifully dappled, and with a
dark-brown mane and tail. There was no high breeding about her, but she
was very pretty and remarkably sweet-tempered and willing. Still, there
was an anxious look about her eye, by which I knew that she had some
trouble. The first time we went out together I thought she had a very
odd pace; she seemed to go partly a trot, partly a canter, three or four
paces, and then a little jump forward.

It was very unpleasant for any horse who pulled with her, and made me
quite fidgety. When we got home I asked her what made her go in that
odd, awkward way.

"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; it is just because my legs are
so short. I stand nearly as high as you, but your legs are a good three
inches longer above your knee than mine, and of course you can take a
much longer step and go much faster. 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