Fleetfoot had no check-rein on his beautiful neck, and when he trotted, he could hold his head in an easy, natural position.

With his wonderful eyes and flowing mane and tail, and his glossy, reddish-brown body, I thought that he was the handsomest horse I had ever seen.

He loved to go fast, and when Mr.
Harry spoke to him to slow up again, he tossed his head with impatience.
But he was too sweet-tempered to disobey.

In all the years that I have known Fleetfoot, I have never once seen him refuse to do as his master told him.
"You have forgotten your whip, haven't you Harry ?" I heard Miss Laura say, as we jogged slowly along, and I ran by the buggy panting and with my tongue hanging out.
"I never use one," said Mr.Harry; "if I saw any man lay one on Fleetfoot, I'd knock him down." His voice was so severe that I glanced up into the buggy.

He looked just as he did the day that he stretched Jenkins on the ground, and gave him a beating.
"I am so glad you don't," said Miss Laura.