"Stand, Shashai," commanded Peggy, resting her hand upon the colt's
withers. He knew perfectly well what to expect, but why that strange
groaning and creaking? The blanket had never done so. The sensitive
nerves quivered and he sprang forward, but Peggy had caught her stirrups
and her low voice quieted him as she swayed and adapted herself to his
gait. Around and around the paddock they loped in perfect harmony of
motion. She did not draw upon the bridle rein, merely holding it as she
had been accustomed to hold her halter strap, guiding by her knees.
Shashai tossed his head partly in nervous irritation at the creaking
saddle, partly in the joy of motion, and joy won the day. Then Peggy
began to draw slightly upon her reins. The colt shook his head
impatiently as though asking: "Wherefor the need? I know exactly where
you wish to go."

"Oh, my bonny one, my bonny one, that is just it! I know that you know,
but someday someone else won't know, and if I don't teach you now just
what the bit means the poor mouth may pay the penalty. It may anyway, in
spite of all I can do, but I'll do my best to make it an easy lesson. Oh
why, why will people pull and tug as they do on a horse's mouth when
there is nothing in this world so sensitive, or that should be so
lightly handled. So be patient, Shashai. We only use it because we must,
dear. Now, right, turn!" And with the words she pressed her right knee
against the colt, at the same time drawing gently upon the right rein.
Shashai turned because he had always done so at the words and the
pressure, accepting the bit's superfluous hint like the gentleman he
was.

"Open the gate, Bud. We'll go for a spin," ordered Peggy as she swung
around the paddock.