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After she left us another horse came in her stead. He was young, and had a bad name for shying and starting, by which he had lost
a good place. I asked him what made him shy.

"Well, I hardly know," he said. "I was timid when I was young, and was a good deal frightened several times, and if I saw anything strange
I used to turn and look at it - you see, with our blinkers one can't see or understand what a thing is unless one looks round - and then my master always gave me a whipping, which of course made me start on, and did not make me less afraid. I think if he would have let me
just look at things quietly, and see that there was nothing to hurt me, it would have been all right, and I should have got used to them.

One day an old gentleman was riding with him, and a large piece of white paper or rag blew across just on one side of me. I shied and started forward. My master as usual whipped me smartly, but the old man cried out, `You're wrong! you're wrong! You should never whip a horse for shying; he shies because he is frightened, and you only frighten him more and make the habit worse.'

So I suppose all men don't do so. I am sure I don't want to shy for the sake of it; but how should one know what is dangerous and what is not, if one is never allowed to get used to anything?

I am never afraid of what I know. Now I was brought up in a park where there were deer; of course I knew them as well as I did a sheep or a cow, but they are not common, and I know many sensible horses who are frightened at them, and who kick up quite a shindy before they will pass a paddock where there are deer."

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