After having it on two or three times he objected to the operation, and would spring about and rear and twitch and back; anything but start ahead, to keep it from being applied. We would have, two of us, to begin to pat and rub about his neck and head. He would not know which had the key. All at once it would be on his ear and winding up. The moment it began to tighten he would be quiet, stand and bear it as long as he could, and then off he would go. It never took thirty seconds to get him off with the key. It would take an hour without. After a little he ceased objecting to have it put on. He seemed to say to himself, “I have got to give in and may as well do it at once,” but he would not start without the key. In a few months he got so that, as soon as we got into the carriage, _he would bend down his head to have the key put on_, and one or two turns of the key would be enough. Then the key became unnecessary. He would bend down his head, tipping his left ear to the horse boy, who would take it in his hand and twist it, and off he would go. My native neighbors said, “That horse must be wound up or he cannot run.” And it did seem to be so. When he got so that the “winding up” was nothing but a form, I tried to break him of that, but could not succeed. I would pat him and talk to him and give him a little salt or sugar or bread, and then step quietly into the carriage and tell him to go. “No.” Coax him. “No.” Whip him. “No.” Legs braced, every muscle tense for resistance. A genuine balk. Stop and keep quiet for an instant and he would hold down his head, bend over his ear and look around for the horse boy appealingly, saying very earnestly by his actions, “Do please wind me up. I _can’t_ go without, but I’ll go gladly if you will.” The moment his ear was touched and one twist given, off he would go as happy and contented as ever horse could be. Many hearty laughs have we and our friends had over the winding up of that horse. If I were out on a tour for a month or two and he were not hitched to the carriage, or if he stood in the stable with no work for a week or two during the monsoon, a real winding up had to take place the first time he was put in. We kept him six years. The last week I owned him I had to wind him up. I sold the patent to the man that bought the horse, and learned from him that he had to use it as long as the horse lived. I was thinking about that horse the other night when it was too hot to sleep, and I suddenly burst into a laugh as I said to myself, “I have again and again, in the membership of our churches at home, seen that horse that had to be wound up, in all matters of benevolence.” I had often thought of that horse as I went through our churches at home, and imagined that I recognized him, but the whole thing came upon me with such peculiar force the other night that I must write out my thoughts.