thought it very dreadful, but the cows went
on eating very quietly, and hardly raised their heads as the black
frightful thing came puffing and grinding past.

For the first few days I could not feed in peace; but as I found that
this terrible creature never came into the field, or did me any harm, I
began to disregard it, and very soon I cared as little about the passing
of a train as the cows and sheep did.

Since then I have seen many horses much alarmed and restive at the sight
or sound of a steam engine; but thanks to my good master's care, I am as
fearless at railway stations as in my own stable.

Now if any one wants to break in a young horse well, that is the way.

My master often drove me in double harness with my mother, because she
was steady and could teach me how to go better than a strange horse. She
told me the better I behaved the better I should be treated, and that
it was wisest always to do my best to please my master; "but," said she,
"there are a great many kinds of men; there are good thoughtful men like
our master, that any horse may be proud to serve; and there are bad,
cruel men, who never ought to have a horse or dog to call their own.
Besides, there are a great many foolish men, vain, ignorant, and
careless, who never trouble themselves to think; these spoil more horses
than all, just for want of sense; they don't mean it, but they do it for
all that. I hope you will fall into good hands; but a horse never knows
who may buy him, or who may drive him; it is all a chance for us; but
still I say, do your best wherever it is, and keep up your good name."

04 Birtwick Park

At this time I used to stand in the stable and my coat was brushed every
day till it shone like a rook's wing. It was early in May, when there
came a man from Squire Gordon's, who took me away to the hall. My master
said, "Good-by, Darkie; be a good horse, and always do your best." I
could not say "good-by", so I put my nose into his hand; he patted me
kindly, and I left my first home. As I lived some years with Squire
Gordon, I may as well tell something about the place.

Squire Gordon's park skirted the village of Birtwick. It was entered by
a large iron gate, at which stood the first lodge, and then you trotted
along on a smooth road between clumps of large old trees; then another
lodge and another gate, which brought you to the house and the gardens.
Beyond this lay the home paddock, the old orchard, and the s