play, for they would frequently bite and kick as well as gallop.

One day, when there was a good deal of kicking, my mother whinnied to me
to come to her, and then she said:

"I wish you to pay attention to what I am going to say to you. The colts
who live here are very good colts, but they are cart-horse colts, and
of course they have not learned manners. You have been well-bred
and well-born; your father has a great name in these parts, and
your grandfather won the cup two years at the Newmarket races; your
grandmother had the sweetest temper of any horse I ever knew, and I
think you have never seen me kick or bite. I hope you will grow up
gentle and good, and never learn bad ways; do your work with a good
will, lift your feet up well when you trot, and never bite or kick even
in play."

I have never forgotten my mother's advice; I knew she was a wise old
horse, and our master thought a great deal of her. Her name was Duchess,
but he often called her Pet.

Our master was a good, kind man. He gave us good food, good lodging, and
kind words; he spoke as kindly to us as he did to his little children.
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 the town on a market
day in a light gig.