sit up and hold the bridle, while he led a quiet old cob up and down
with a leading rein. But, now that Moggy was come, we were to make quite
a new step in horsemanship. Our parents had a theory that boys must
teach themselves, and that a saddle (except for propriety, when we rode
to a neighbour's house to carry a message, or had to appear otherwise
in public) was a hindrance rather than a help. So, after our morning's
lessons, the coachman used to take us to the paddock in which Moggy
lived, put her bridle on, and leave us to our own devices. I could see
that that moment was from the first one of keen enjoyment to my brother.
He would scramble up on her back, while she went on grazing--without
caring to bring her to the elm stool in the corner of the field, which
was our mounting place--pull her head up, kick his heels into her sides,
and go scampering away round the paddock with the keenest delight. He
was Moggy's master from the first day, though she not unfrequently
managed to get rid of him by sharp turns, or stopping dead short in her
gallop. She knew it quite well; and, just as well, that she was mistress
as soon as I was on her back. For weeks it never came to my turn,
without my wishing myself anywhere else. George would give me a lift
up, and start her. She would trot a few yards, and then begin grazing,
notwithstanding my timid expostulations and gentle pullings at her
bridle. Then he would run up, and pull up her head, and start her again,
and she would bolt off with a flirt of her head, and never be content
till I was safely on the grass. The moment that was effected she took to
grazing again, and I believe enjoyed the whole performance as much as
George, and certainly far more than I did. We always brought her a
carrot, or bit of sugar, in our pockets, and she was much more like a
great good-tempered dog with us than a pony.

_Memoir of a Brother_. T. HUGHES.