Mr Blomefield, the vicar, had a large family, and when his children came to play, they rode Merrylegs round the orchard for hours.
One afternoon, when James brought him in, he said, “There, you rascal, behave yourself, or we shall both be in trouble.”
“What have you been doing, Merrylegs?” I asked.
“Oh,” he said, tossing his little head, “I have only been giving those young people a lesson. They did not know when they had had enough, or when I had had enough, so I just threw them off.”
“What!” I said. “You threw the children off? Did you throw Miss Jessie or Miss Flora?”
He looked very offended. “Of course not! I am as careful with our young ladies as the master could be, and I teach the little ones to ride. It was the boys. They had each cut a big stick for a whip and hit me too hard with it. At last I stopped two or three times as a hint. Boys think a pony is like a steam engine and can go on as long and as fast as they like. So I stood up on my back legs and let each boy slide off, again and again, until they understood. They are not bad boys, but I had to give them a lesson.”
“If I had been you,” said Ginger, “I would have given those boys a good kick.”
“No doubt you would,” said Merrylegs, “but I am not such a fool, begging your pardon, as to make our master angry or James ashamed of me. Only the other day I heard the master tell Mrs Blomefield that he would not sell me for any money. Do you think I would forget all the kindness I have had here, and turn bad because of two silly boys? You never had a good place before you came here, so you don’t know, and I’m sorry for you. But I can tell you, good places make good horses. I love our people.”
“Besides,” he went on, shaking his head, “if I started kicking, I would be sold at once, and I might end up worked to death somewhere where nobody cared for me. I hope I shall never come to that.”