We were all fond of him, and my mother loved him very much. When she saw
him at the gate she would neigh with joy, and trot up to him. He would
pat and stroke her and say, "Well, old Pet, and how is your little
Darkie?" I was a dull black, so he called me Darkie; then he would give
me a piece of bread, which was very good, and sometimes he brought a
carrot for my mother. All the horses would come to him, but I think we
were his favorites. My mother always took him to town on a market-day in
a light gig.

We had a ploughboy, Dick, who sometimes came into our field to pluck
blackberries from the hedge. When he had eaten all he wanted he would
have what he called fun with the colts, throwing stones and sticks at
them to make them gallop. We did not much mind him, for we could gallop
off; but sometimes a stone would hit and hurt us.

One day he was at this game, and did not know that the master was in the
next field, watching what was going on; over the hedge he jumped in a
snap, and catching Dick by the arm, he gave him such a box on the ear as
made him roar with the pain and surprise. As soon as we saw the master
we trotted up nearer to see what went on.

"Bad boy!" he said, "bad boy! to chase the colts. This is not the first
time, but it shall be the last. There--take your money and go home; I
shall not want you on my farm again." So we never saw Dick any more. Old
Daniel, the man who looked after the horses, was just as gentle as our
master; so we were well off.