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