A friend of mine, Mr. S., had a beautiful colt named Daisy, who was the pet of all the family. She was so tame she would put her head in at the open windows to see what was going on in the house; and very often, when she saw the front-door open, she would go up the steps of the piazza, and deliberately march into the hall. No one ever struck Daisy with a whip, or even a switch. A little slap of the hand, and a "Go out, Daisy," were all that were necessary.

Mrs. S. had a new cook; and one day she set a pan of custard on the back-porch to cool. When she went out to get it, an hour or two after, she found nothing but the empty pan. Molly ran to Mrs. S. in great distress, and told her of the loss of the custard. "Ah!" said Mrs. S., "then Daisy has eaten it." And, sure enough, Daisy was the thief.

Another time the naughty colt put her head in the kitchen-window, and ate up some apple-pies that were on the table. All this was very bad indeed, but Daisy was always forgiven because she was so lovely and gentle. She would follow any of the family about the grounds, and rub her head against them to show how much she loved them.

One day a man came to Mr. S.'s house to make a visit. He was not in the habit of visiting the family, and so had not made Daisy's acquaintance. After tea, Mr. S. and his visitor were standing on the piazza, when Daisy came trotting up, as she always did when she saw one of the family there, and opened her mouth, expecting Mr. S. to put a piece of bread or apple in. The stranger did not understand this little trick, and (coarse man that he was!) spat a quantity of tobacco-juice into Daisy's face. Poor little Daisy! She hung her head down, and walked off under the trees, where she stood looking very miserable.

The next morning Mr. S. asked his visitor to walk with him through his grounds; and, as they were walking along, they passed a place where Daisy, who still looked as if she felt insulted and injured, was quietly grazing.

As soon as she saw her enemy (as she must have considered him), she pricked up her ears as if some happy idea had come into her head. She gave herself a little shake, and, walking behind him until she was quite near, suddenly wheeled around, and gave a kick that would have broken some of his bones, if he had not jumped out of the way just in time to escape her heels.

As it was, he was very much frightened, and looked very mean; for he knew that a kick was just what he deserved for his vulgarity and insolence.

Daisy had never been known to kick at anybody before, and she never kicked anybody afterwards.