A KNOWING HORSE

AN Irishman wished to borrow a horse and wagon of a New England farmer, by the name of Charles Benedict, living near Norwalk, Connecticut, some years ago.

While reluctant to make the loan, the farmer instructed his colored farm-hand to hitch up a nice white horse and let the Irishman have him.

The colored man, by the way, was particularly good and kind to animals, and they all liked him.

When the Irishman returned the borrowed horse, Mr. Benedict, the owner, noticed that the horse had been driven hard, as he was covered with foam, and that there were signs of the whip having been used on him. He little supposed that the Irishman would have the courage ever to ask him for the loan of the horse again.

But, contrary to his supposition, after a time the man once more asked to borrow the horse. Again yielding reluctantly, the colored man once more hitched up the white horse to the wagon.

The Irishman got into the wagon, and, taking the reins in hand, gave the word for the horse to proceed. But the horse did not move. The Irishman repeated the command with more emphasis; but still the horse did not stir. Finally he applied the whip; but to no purpose. The horse would not budge.

Then the colored man got into the wagon and told the horse to go, and he at once obeyed.

Once more the Irishman attempted to drive the horse, but without success. The horse would not be driven by him, and finally had to be unhitched and returned to the stable.

Plainly, the difference was in the drivers. The horse evidently remembered the treatment this man had given him on the former occasion, and did not purpose to be driven by him again.

Once bit, twice shy.

"My father," says a writer in Our Dumb Animals, "was very fond of horses. He generally had from one to five in his stable. Among these was Fan, the family horse and pet of all.

"She was so gentle that I, a little fellow in kilts, was allowed to play around her head and heels just as I pleased.

"One day Fan was hitched up to a wagon, and when everything was ready, father jumped in, took the reins, and gave the word to start. Fan did not move a step, which surprised my father very much, as she had always before been very willing to go.

"My father took the whip and lightly touched her, but still she did not stir. By and by father got out of patience and gave her a sharp stroke, when, to his wonder, he saw her lower her head and carefully take hold of a small bundle with her teeth and lift it to one side. Then she started off at a brisk trot."

As the little bundle proved to be the father's little boy himself, we can well believe that after that old Fan was loved and petted more than ever.

WHEN a boy twelve years old, while living on a farm in northwestern Illinois, my father set me to plowing a field one cool autumn day, with a large team of horses. The horses were strong, well fed, and full of life, and they pulled the plow along with ease. The cool weather also had a bracing effect, and tended to enliven them and quicken their pace.

As farmers often do while plowing with a team of horses on the farm, I had the lines tied together at the ends and thrown over one shoulder and down around my back and under the opposite arm.

As the horses turned a certain corner of the field not far from a large woods, they heard a gun discharged. At this they took fright and began to run. I pulled as hard as I could on the lines, and sought further to check their pace by making the plow go as deep in the ground as I could.

But this had little effect. They made the furrow fly, and soon had me down dragging on the ground at the side of the plow which was now quite out of the ground.

I managed to slip the lines over my head, but held onto them with my hands as long as I possibly could in a vain attempt to stop this runaway team.

But I very soon had to let go of the lines, and away went this great fine team of horses, with the iron beam plow, across the field and down a meadow toward a high board gate not far from the barn.

Every now and then the nose of the plow would dive down into the sod, only to be pulled out again and throw a furrow of sod several feet long high in the air. The plow itself would sometimes jump as high as the horses' backs.

The horses ran till they reached the high board gate referred to, which they ran into and partly broke down.

In their last plunge, the point of the plow struck deep into the hoof of one of the horse's hind feet, making it bleed profusely, but not inflicting so serious a wound as to injure the horse permanently.

This, with the damage to the gate, was the only real injury done.

But, as the reader can well imagine, these were exciting and anxious moments to me, when I saw the plow jumping high into the air, and fearing every moment that I would see it strike into the hip or back of one of the horses and perhaps kill him.

My father took charge of this team after this.

I was too small a boy to be entrusted all alone with so large a team of horses.

THE traditional toughness of an army mule was upheld in a report to the United States War Department, from the Forty-second Infantry, stationed at Panama.

During some army maneuvers in the fall of 1926, a mule broke loose and ran into the jungle.

Forty-seven days later he was found by a native. He had fallen into a ten-foot hole shortly after he had entered the jungle, and had remained there, practically without food or water, all that time. The animal was a living skeleton, covered with ticks, but still carrying the saddle and infantry equipment with which he was laden when he ran away.

There may have been some scanty vegetation in the hole, but it could not have lasted more than a day or so. Rain water also may have trickled down to the captive at times, but not in any sufficient or large enough quantities to materially allay such an animal's thirst.

The mule was taken back to camp, and, with food and water again supplied, soon took on flesh, and at last reports was in good health.

WE wish that every boy in all the world could have the pleasure of riding a horse or a pony. Next to playing with a dog, this is one of a boy's greatest delights.

From experience, the author knows what horseback riding means to a boy. He has never forgotten his first ride on an Indian ponyfirst on a walk, then on a slow trot, and finally on the gallop. It was indeed a great pleasure and fine sport. I never tired of it.

After a time I was able to ride standing up on the back of a fine bay mare we called "Kate," going on an easy gallop, like circus riders.

Neighbor boys and I would sometimes race our horses for short distances to see which horse could run the faster.

We would also time some of our fastest trotters to see how long it took them to trot a mile.

In defense of fleet-footed horses, Henry Ward Beecher once said that "horses were made to go." And we may add that horses and ponies were made to ride also.

Moreover, horseback riding is healthful exercise. One of the famous prescriptions of an old German doctor was, "Take a horse every day."

Sometimes, of course, all does not go so well horseback riding. Some horses are given to throwing their riders. One of the ways they do this is to rear and pitch. Another is to run and stop suddenly, with head down, and throw the rider off over their heads. Still another is to lie down and roll over, and thus compel the rider to dismount.

The author remembers being thrown repeatedly by a fine sorrel mare on riding her to a creek to give her a drink when the water had given out for a time at the farmyard well. She was not a vicious or badly disposed animal at all; but I was small, and she was large and full of life, and wished to go faster than I could ride her bareback with safety and not fall off. So, after getting her on a trot or a slow gallop, she would often stop rather suddenly, put her head down, and just nicely and easily spill me on the ground in front of her. But she was careful never to step on me. I never got hurt on being thrown by her. She simply wished to get rid of me and have a good run after standing in the barn for a long time.

Boys brought up in the country on the farm generally have the advantage over those brought up in cities in this matter of horseback riding, though not so much now since the automobile, motor-truck, and tractor have displaced so many of the horses formerly used in farming.

Occasionally, however, boys and girls in the city know what it means to ride on a horse or pony. The author is acquainted with a gentleman in Washington, D. C., the head of a civil service preparatory training-school, who keeps a pony just on purpose to give small children the pleasure of riding on him. This pony is often seen on the streets of Washington with a boy or girl on him, and other children following him, waiting their turn to take a ride. His owner is a very kind-hearted man, and knows what boys and girls like.

WE are always pleased when we learn of great men being kind to boys, kind to animals, and tender-hearted. We think more of them after hearing of their good deeds, their kind words, and their efforts to cheer the downcast, help the helpless, and relieve the sorrows and sufferings of their fellow men.

The story is told of a boy who lay sick in bed in a room on an upper floor of a hospital. He owned a pony, and while still sick greatly desired to see his pony.

Learning of this, President Roosevelt, so we are told, had the boy's pony taken to the hospital, placed on an elevator, and taken to the sick boy's room for a visit. Having been a great lover of horses and a great horseback rider himself, as well as the leader of the famous "Rough Riders" in the Spanish-American war, he knew how much good it would do a sick boy to see his pony.

A DONKEY kept in a stable got into the habit of kicking the boards loose from his stall when annoyed by a horse kept in an adjoining stall.

His owner thought to break him of this by giving him a good beating one day after he had done some kicking of this kind.

While receiving his beating out in the yard, the donkey did some more kicking, but he took good care not to kick at his master, however much he may have felt like doing so.

After his punishment, his master turned him out in a pasture to eat grass. A washing had just been hung on a line stretched in this pasture near the house.

Unobserved, the donkey, out of revenge for his beating, came and tore the sleeves off from several of his master's shirts hanging on the line. He evidently thought he should not have been punished for kicking his stall down when nagged and annoyed by a provoking and tantalizing horse.

In court we sometimes hear of what are called "provoking causes" and "extenuating circumstances" in cases where an offense has been committed. This seemed to be a case of this kind.

DOROTHY Dix, the well-known and versatile writer on family, home, and love affairs, tells how away back in the days when young men took their girl friends out for a ride with horse and buggy, instead of in an automobile as now, a young man of her acquaintance took the young lady to whom he was engaged out for a drive one evening.

On the way the horse did something which angered the young man, and he gave it a merciless beating, whereupon the girl promptly broke the engagement to marry him, saying:

"I am very glad I have found out what sort of a temper you have in time to save myself. I do not propose to spend the balance of my life cowering before any man's rage, or walking on eggs when he is about for fear I will do or say something to rile him. Furthermore, I am no fool. I can take a tip when I am handed one, and I know that any man who will be cruel to a defenseless animal will be cruel to a woman when she is once in his power. So I am through."

This young man's cruelty, therefore, cost him a good wife-a life-long loss.

Do not be cruel to animals, boys, if you wish to retain not only your own self-respect, but the love and respect of worth-while friends and good people generally.

IN a village in Italy, years ago, a good king hung a bell in the market-place, and covered it with a sheltering roof. Then, calling his people together, he told them what he had done. "This is the Bell of justice," he said. "Whenever a wrong is done to any man, I will call the judge to make it right-if the man but rings the great bell in the square."

With so good and just a king, the people of the village lived happily together. The bell called the judge whenever wrong was done, and he heard all complaints.

After many years the bell-rope was worn away by use. It hung out of reach until some one, passing by, mended it with a wild vine.

Now it happened that a famous knight dwelt in the village. When he was young he had many hounds and horses, and spent his time in hunting and feasting, but when he became an old man he had no love for anything but gold. So he sold his hounds, gave up his rich gardens, and kept but one horse, and that half-starved, in his stable. At length he became so greedy and selfish that he grudged the poor horse his scanty food and turned him out to feed in the streets.

One summer afternoon, as the people dozed in their houses, they heard the sound of the Bell of Justice. The judge hastened to the market-place, where the great bell was ringing. "Who hath been wronged?" he asked. But, reaching the belfry, he saw only the starving horse struggling to reach the vine which had been tied to the bell-rope.

"Ah !" said the judge, "the steed pleads his cause well. He has been forsaken by the master whom he served, and he asks for justice."

The people had gathered in the market-place, and among them the knight. The judge spoke gravely.

"Here came the steed who served his master well, yet who was abandoned and forgotten. He pleads for justice, and the law decrees that the man whom he served shall provide him with food and shelter, that he may abide in comfort."

The knight, ashamed, led home the faithful horse. The king approved the righteous judgment, saying: "My bell may indeed be called the Bell of Justice. It pleads the cause even of the dumb animals, who cannot speak nor plead for themselves."