But then everything cruel was laid at the
door of the hated Spaniards in those days, when they had so lately been
forced to take their throttling grasp from the throat of the Beautiful
River. The pony certainly bore no outward mark of noble ancestry. He was
a homely, humble, rough-coated little beast. Yet David liked him better
than all the other finer horses in the judge's stables, notwithstanding
that some of these had real pedigrees; for good horses were already
appearing in Kentucky. The judge allowed David to claim the pony as his
own. Robert Knox was a kind man when he did not forget, and he never
forgot any one without forgetting himself,--first and most of all,--as
he did sometimes.
David always thought of the pony as an orphan like himself, and his own
bruised feelings were very tender toward the friendless little fellow.
He led him from the stable now as a mark of respect and because it was
dark; for he knew that the pony, with a word, would follow him anywhere,
at any time, like a faithful dog. It was not quite so dark outside, and
springing into the saddle, the boy bent down and stroked the rough neck
and the tangled mane that no brush could ever make smooth.
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