pleasant, quiet, turns about just as you want him, holds up his feet to
be cleaned out, or anything else you please to wish; then you'll find
another fidgety, fretty, won't move the right way, or starts across the
stall, tosses up his head as soon as you come near him, lays his ears,
and seems afraid of you; or else squares about at you with his heels.
Poor things! I know what sort of treatment they have had. If they are
timid it makes them start or shy; if they are high-mettled it makes them
vicious or dangerous; their tempers are mostly made when they are young.
Bless you! they are like children, train 'em up in the way they should
go, as the good book says, and when they are old they will not depart
from it, if they have a chance.
I like to hear you talk, said James, that's the way we lay it down at
home, at our master's.
Who is your master, young man? if it be a proper question. I should
judge he is a good one, from what I see.
He is Squire Gordon, of Birtwick Park, the other side the Beacon
Hills, said James.
Ah! so, so, I have heard tell of him; fine judge of horses, ain't he?
the best rider in the county.
I believe he is, said James, but he rides very little now, since the
poor young master was killed.
Ah! poor gentleman; I read all about it in the paper at the time. A
fine horse killed, too, wasn't there?
Yes, said James; he was a splendid creature, brother to this one, and
just like him.
Pity! pity! said the old man; 'twas a bad place to leap, if I
remember; a thin fence at top, a steep bank down to the stream, wasn't
it? No chance for a horse to see where he is going. Now, I am for bold
riding as much as any man, but still there are some leaps that only
a very knowing old huntsman has any right to take. A man's life and a
horse's life are worth more than a fox's tail; at least, I should say
they ought to be.
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