clear, and kind, and when he gave orders it was so steady and
decided, that every one knew, both horses and men, that he expected
to be obeyed. He came quietly along, now and then shaking the oats
about that he had in the sieve, and speaking cheerfully and gently
to me: 'Come along, lassie, come along, lassie; come along, come
along.' I stood still and let him come up; he held the oats to me,
and I began to eat without fear; his voice took all my fear away.
He stood by, patting and stroking me whilst I was eating, and
seeing the clots of blood on my side he seemed very vexed. 'Poor
lassie! it was a bad business, a bad business!' Then he quietly
took the rein and led me to the stable; just at the door stood
Samson. I laid my ears back and snapped at him. 'Stand back,' said
the master, 'and keep out of her way; you've done a bad day's work
for this filly.' He growled out something about a vicious brute.
'Hark ye,' said the father, 'a bad-tempered man will never make a
good-tempered horse. You've not learned your trade yet, Samson.'
Then he led me into my box, took off the saddle and bridle with his
own hands, and tied me up; then he called for a pail of warm water
and a sponge, took off his coat, and while the stableman held the
pail, he sponged my sides a good while, so tenderly that I was sure
he knew how sore and bruised they were. 'Whoa! my pretty one,' he
said, 'stand still, stand still.' His very voice did me good, and
the bathing was very comfortable. The skin was so broken at the
corners of my mouth that I could not eat the hay; the stalks hurt
me. He looked closely at it, shook his head, and told the man to
fetch a good bran mash and put some meal into it. How good that
mash was! and so soft and healing to my mouth. He stood by all the
time I was eating, stroking me and talking to the man. 'If a
highmettled creature like this,' said he, 'can't be broken in by
fair means, she will never be good for anything.'