way I got on the wrong road, and eventually
found myself in the middle of Saxonville which was very populated and
unlike any-where I had ever ridden to before. A boy came up to me and
asked permission to pat the pony and then he asked if he might ride it.
I kindly dismounted and let him gallop up and down the street a few
times. He had a friend who wanted to do the same and still another
friend — in all, I think about six people took a turn
before I finally got into the saddle again and started towards
home. It was early afternoon when I passed by grandmother's house in
Wayland. Aunt Celin caught sight of me and came run- ning out to ask me
where I had been. I told her that I had started for Framingham but got
lost. It turned out that my father had been
telephoning frantically around to see if anyone had seen
me; my mother, on the other hand, took it all very calmly — as
long as I was on a horse nothing serious could happen to me.
Give the horse its head and it will bring you home, I had often
been told, and that is exactly what happened. I said nothing
about how I had let several children ride the pony; had I done
so there would have been firm disapproval.
When my mother became interested in raising Morgan horses, she set
up an operation at our farm in Vermont — the logical place
to do it, she said, because a breed of horse develops best
on its native soil. She became an enthusiastic member of the Morgan
Horse Association, and attended every meeting she could. At one of them
she read a paper describing her experiences in propagating the breed.
When she had finished the chairman thought it might be interesting
if Mr. Dickson told a little about his
experiences in horse raising. Speaking with his accustomed brevity, he
first thanked the chairman then added, "Ladies and