deadly weariness with them; but none with natural charity could fail
to sympathize with them in their love for their calves, and to feel
that it in no way differed from the divine mother-love of a woman in
thoughtful, self-sacrificing care; for they would brave every danger,
giving their lives for their offspring. Nor could we fail to
sympathize with their awkward, blunt-nosed baby calves, with such
beautiful, wondering eyes looking out on the world and slowly getting
acquainted with things, all so strange to them, and awkwardly learning
to use their legs, and play and fight.

Before leaving Scotland, father promised us a pony to ride when we got
to America, and we saw to it that this promise was not forgotten. Only
a week or two after our arrival in the woods he bought us a little
Indian pony for thirteen dollars from a store-keeper in Kingston who
had obtained him from a Winnebago or Menominee Indian in trade for
goods. He was a stout handsome bay with long black mane and tail, and,
though he was only two years old, the Indians had already taught him
to carry all sorts of burdens, to stand without being tied, to go
anywhere over all sorts of ground fast or slow, and to jump and swim
and fear nothing,--a truly wonderful creature, strangely different
from shy, skittish, nervous, superstitious civilized beasts. We turned
him loose, and, strange to say, he never ran away from us or refused
to be caught, but behaved as if he had known Scotch boys all his
life; probably because we were about as wild as young Indians.

One day when father happened to have a little leisure, he said, "Noo,
bairns, rin doon the meadow and get your powny and learn to ride him."
So we led him out to a smooth place near an Indian mound back of the
shanty, where father directed us to begin. I mounted for the first
memorable lesson, crossed the mound, and set out at a slow walk along