There was a plowboy, 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; but he was there, 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, nor the second, 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.




02 The Hunt


Before I was two years old a circumstance happened which I have never
forgotten. It was early in the spring; there had been a little frost in
the night, and a light mist still hung over the woods and meadows. I
and the other colts were feeding at the lower part of the field when
we heard, quite in the distance, what sounded like the cry of dogs. The