The Horse and His Rider

In wartime, nothing was too good for the soldier's horse. The soldier brushed him every morning. He fed him hay and corn with his own hands. "My good friend," he called him, and they faced every danger together.

Then the war ended, and all that changed. Now the horse got nothing but chaff. Now he hauled loads of wood from dawn till dark. Now there was no brushing and no kind word. Load after load. Day after day. His ribs began to show, and his back began to sag.

One morning a trumpet blew. War had come again! The soldier ran to the stable and buckled on the fine war saddle. He pulled on his heavy coat of iron. Then he climbed up on the horse's back.

The horse's legs shook. His knees folded. Down he went, under all that weight, and the soldier went down with him.

"You must walk to this war," said the horse. "You have turned me from a horse into a donkey. How can I turn back into a horse in a moment?"