we'll just go home by Farmer Bushby's, Beauty, and then if anybody wants
to know you and I can tell 'em, ye see." So we turned off to the right,
and soon came up to the stack-yard, and within sight of the house. The
farmer was hurrying out into the road, and his wife was standing at the
gate, looking very frightened.

"Have you seen my boy?" said Mr. Bushby as we came up; "he went out an
hour ago on my black pony, and the creature is just come back without a
rider."

"I should think, sir," said John, "he had better be without a rider,
unless he can be ridden properly."

"What do you mean?" said the farmer.

"Well, sir, I saw your son whipping, and kicking, and knocking that good
little pony about shamefully because he would not leap a gate that was
too high for him. The pony behaved well, sir, and showed no vice; but at
last he just threw up his heels and tipped the young gentleman into the
thorn hedge. He wanted me to help him out, but I hope you will excuse
me, sir, I did not feel inclined to do so. There's no bones broken, sir;
he'll only get a few scratches. I love horses, and it riles me to see
them badly used; it is a bad plan to aggravate an animal till he uses
his heels; the first time is not always the last."

During this time the mother began to cry, "Oh, my poor Bill, I must go
and meet him; he must be hurt."

"You had better go into the house, wife," said the farmer; "Bill wants a
lesson about this, and I must see that he gets it; this is not the first