sentences.text: Part I 01 My Early Home The first place that I can well remember was a large pleasant meadow with a pond of clear water in it.
sentences.text: Part
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: 01
sentences.text: My
sentences.text: Early
sentences.text: Home
sentences.text: The
sentences.text: first
sentences.text: place
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: can
sentences.text: well
sentences.text: remember
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: large
sentences.text: pleasant
sentences.text: meadow
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: pond
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: clear
sentences.text: water
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: Some shady trees leaned over it, and rushes and water-lilies grew at the deep end.
sentences.text: Some
sentences.text: shady
sentences.text: trees
sentences.text: leaned
sentences.text: over
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: rushes
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: water-lilies
sentences.text: grew
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: deep
sentences.text: end
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: Over the hedge on one side we looked into a plowed field, and on the other we looked over a gate at our master ’s house, which stood by the roadside; at the top of the meadow was a grove of fir trees, and at the bottom a running brook overhung by a steep bank.
sentences.text: Over
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: hedge
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: one
sentences.text: side
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: looked
sentences.text: into
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: plowed
sentences.text: field
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: other
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: looked
sentences.text: over
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: gate
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: our
sentences.text: master
sentences.text: ’s
sentences.text: house
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: which
sentences.text: stood
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: roadside
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: top
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: meadow
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: grove
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: fir
sentences.text: trees
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: bottom
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: running
sentences.text: brook
sentences.text: overhung
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: steep
sentences.text: bank
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: While I was young I lived upon my mother ’s milk, as I could not eat grass.
sentences.text: While
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: young
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: lived
sentences.text: upon
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: ’s
sentences.text: milk
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: could
sentences.text: not
sentences.text: eat
sentences.text: grass
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: In the daytime I ran by her side, and at night I lay down close by her.
sentences.text: In
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: daytime
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: ran
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: her
sentences.text: side
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: night
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: lay
sentences.text: down
sentences.text: close
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: her
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: When it was hot we used to stand by the pond in the shade of the trees, and when it was cold we had a nice warm shed near the grove.
sentences.text: When
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: hot
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: used
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: stand
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: pond
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: shade
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: trees
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: when
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: cold
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: had
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: nice
sentences.text: warm
sentences.text: shed
sentences.text: near
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: grove
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: As soon as I was old enough to eat grass my mother used to go out to work in the daytime, and come back in the evening.
sentences.text: As
sentences.text: soon
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: old
sentences.text: enough
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: eat
sentences.text: grass
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: used
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: go
sentences.text: out
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: work
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: daytime
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: come
sentences.text: back
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: evening
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: There were six young colts in the meadow besides me; they were older than I was; some were nearly as large as grown-up horses.
sentences.text: There
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: six
sentences.text: young
sentences.text: colts
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: meadow
sentences.text: besides
sentences.text: me
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: older
sentences.text: than
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: some
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: nearly
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: large
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: grown-up
sentences.text: horses
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: I used to run with them, and had great fun; we used to gallop all together round and round the field as hard as we could go.
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: used
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: run
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: them
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: had
sentences.text: great
sentences.text: fun
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: used
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: gallop
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: together
sentences.text: round
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: round
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: field
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: hard
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: could
sentences.text: go
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: Sometimes we had rather rough play, for they would frequently bite and kick as well as gallop.
sentences.text: Sometimes
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: had
sentences.text: rather
sentences.text: rough
sentences.text: play
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: for
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: would
sentences.text: frequently
sentences.text: bite
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: kick
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: well
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: gallop
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: One day, when there was a good deal of kicking, my mother whinnied to me to come to her, and then she said: “ I wish you to pay attention to what I am going to say to you.
sentences.text: One
sentences.text: day
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: when
sentences.text: there
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: good
sentences.text: deal
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: kicking
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: whinnied
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: me
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: come
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: her
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: then
sentences.text: she
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: :
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: wish
sentences.text: you
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: pay
sentences.text: attention
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: what
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: am
sentences.text: going
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: say
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: you
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: The colts who live here are very good colts, but they are cart-horse colts, and of course they have not learned manners.
sentences.text: The
sentences.text: colts
sentences.text: who
sentences.text: live
sentences.text: here
sentences.text: are
sentences.text: very
sentences.text: good
sentences.text: colts
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: are
sentences.text: cart-horse
sentences.text: colts
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: course
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: have
sentences.text: not
sentences.text: learned
sentences.text: manners
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: You have been well-bred and well-born; your father has a great name in these parts, and your grandfather won the cup two years at the Newmarket races; your grandmother had the sweetest temper of any horse I ever knew, and I think you have never seen me kick or bite.
sentences.text: You
sentences.text: have
sentences.text: been
sentences.text: well-bred
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: well-born
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: your
sentences.text: father
sentences.text: has
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: great
sentences.text: name
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: these
sentences.text: parts
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: your
sentences.text: grandfather
sentences.text: won
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: cup
sentences.text: two
sentences.text: years
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: Newmarket
sentences.text: races
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: your
sentences.text: grandmother
sentences.text: had
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: sweetest
sentences.text: temper
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: any
sentences.text: horse
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: ever
sentences.text: knew
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: think
sentences.text: you
sentences.text: have
sentences.text: never
sentences.text: seen
sentences.text: me
sentences.text: kick
sentences.text: or
sentences.text: bite
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: I hope you will grow up gentle and good, and never learn bad ways; do your work with a good will, lift your feet up well when you trot, and never bite or kick even in play . ”
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: hope
sentences.text: you
sentences.text: will
sentences.text: grow
sentences.text: up
sentences.text: gentle
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: good
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: never
sentences.text: learn
sentences.text: bad
sentences.text: ways
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: do
sentences.text: your
sentences.text: work
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: good
sentences.text: will
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: lift
sentences.text: your
sentences.text: feet
sentences.text: up
sentences.text: well
sentences.text: when
sentences.text: you
sentences.text: trot
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: never
sentences.text: bite
sentences.text: or
sentences.text: kick
sentences.text: even
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: play
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: I have never forgotten my mother ’s advice; I knew she was a wise old horse, and our master thought a great deal of her.
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: have
sentences.text: never
sentences.text: forgotten
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: ’s
sentences.text: advice
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: knew
sentences.text: she
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: wise
sentences.text: old
sentences.text: horse
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: our
sentences.text: master
sentences.text: thought
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: great
sentences.text: deal
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: her
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: Her name was Duchess, but he often called her Pet.
sentences.text: Her
sentences.text: name
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: Duchess
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: often
sentences.text: called
sentences.text: her
sentences.text: Pet
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: Our master was a good, kind man.
sentences.text: Our
sentences.text: master
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: good
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: kind
sentences.text: man
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: He gave us good food, good lodging, and kind words; he spoke as kindly to us as he did to his little children.
sentences.text: He
sentences.text: gave
sentences.text: us
sentences.text: good
sentences.text: food
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: good
sentences.text: lodging
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: kind
sentences.text: words
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: spoke
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: kindly
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: us
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: did
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: his
sentences.text: little
sentences.text: children
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: We were all fond of him, and my mother loved him very much.
sentences.text: We
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: fond
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: loved
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: very
sentences.text: much
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: When she saw him at the gate she would neigh with joy, and trot up to him.
sentences.text: When
sentences.text: she
sentences.text: saw
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: gate
sentences.text: she
sentences.text: would
sentences.text: neigh
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: joy
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: trot
sentences.text: up
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: He would pat and stroke her and say, “ Well, old Pet, and how is your little Darkie? ”
sentences.text: He
sentences.text: would
sentences.text: pat
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: stroke
sentences.text: her
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: say
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: Well
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: old
sentences.text: Pet
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: how
sentences.text: is
sentences.text: your
sentences.text: little
sentences.text: Darkie
sentences.text: ?
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: I was a dull black, so he called me Darkie; then he would give me a piece of bread, which was very good, and sometimes he brought a carrot for my mother.
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: dull
sentences.text: black
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: so
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: called
sentences.text: me
sentences.text: Darkie
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: then
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: would
sentences.text: give
sentences.text: me
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: piece
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: bread
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: which
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: very
sentences.text: good
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: sometimes
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: brought
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: carrot
sentences.text: for
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: All the horses would come to him, but I think we were his favorites.
sentences.text: All
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: horses
sentences.text: would
sentences.text: come
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: think
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: his
sentences.text: favorites
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: My mother always took him to the town on a market day in a light gig.
sentences.text: My
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: always
sentences.text: took
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: town
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: market
sentences.text: day
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: light
sentences.text: gig
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: There was a plowboy, Dick, who sometimes came into our field to pluck blackberries from the hedge.
sentences.text: There
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: plowboy
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: Dick
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: who
sentences.text: sometimes
sentences.text: came
sentences.text: into
sentences.text: our
sentences.text: field
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: pluck
sentences.text: blackberries
sentences.text: from
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: hedge
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: When he had eaten all he wanted he would have what he called fun with the colts, throwing stones and sticks at them to make them gallop.
sentences.text: When
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: had
sentences.text: eaten
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: wanted
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: would
sentences.text: have
sentences.text: what
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: called
sentences.text: fun
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: colts
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: throwing
sentences.text: stones
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: sticks
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: them
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: make
sentences.text: them
sentences.text: gallop
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: We did not much mind him, for we could gallop off; but sometimes a stone would hit and hurt us.
sentences.text: We
sentences.text: did
sentences.text: not
sentences.text: much
sentences.text: mind
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: for
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: could
sentences.text: gallop
sentences.text: off
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: sometimes
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: stone
sentences.text: would
sentences.text: hit
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: hurt
sentences.text: us
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: One day he was at this game, and did not know that the master was in the next field; but he was there, watching what was going on; over the hedge he jumped in a snap, and catching Dick by the arm, he gave him such a box on the ear as made him roar with the pain and surprise.
sentences.text: One
sentences.text: day
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: this
sentences.text: game
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: did
sentences.text: not
sentences.text: know
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: master
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: next
sentences.text: field
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: there
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: watching
sentences.text: what
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: going
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: over
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: hedge
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: jumped
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: snap
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: catching
sentences.text: Dick
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: arm
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: gave
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: such
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: box
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: ear
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: made
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: roar
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: pain
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: surprise
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: As soon as we saw the master we trotted up nearer to see what went on.
sentences.text: As
sentences.text: soon
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: saw
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: master
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: trotted
sentences.text: up
sentences.text: nearer
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: see
sentences.text: what
sentences.text: went
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: “ Bad boy! ” he said, “ bad boy!
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: Bad
sentences.text: boy
sentences.text: !
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: bad
sentences.text: boy
sentences.text: !
sentences.text: to chase the colts.
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: chase
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: colts
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: This is not the first time, nor the second, but it shall be the last.
sentences.text: This
sentences.text: is
sentences.text: not
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: first
sentences.text: time
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: nor
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: second
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: shall
sentences.text: be
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: last
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: There--take your money and go home; I shall not want you on my farm again . ”
sentences.text: There
sentences.text: --
sentences.text: take
sentences.text: your
sentences.text: money
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: go
sentences.text: home
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: shall
sentences.text: not
sentences.text: want
sentences.text: you
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: farm
sentences.text: again
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: So we never saw Dick any more.
sentences.text: So
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: never
sentences.text: saw
sentences.text: Dick
sentences.text: any
sentences.text: more
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: Old Daniel, the man who looked after the horses, was just as gentle as our master, so we were well off.
sentences.text: Old
sentences.text: Daniel
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: man
sentences.text: who
sentences.text: looked
sentences.text: after
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: horses
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: just
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: gentle
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: our
sentences.text: master
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: so
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: well
sentences.text: off
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: 02 The Hunt Before I was two years old a circumstance happened which I have never forgotten.
sentences.text: 02
sentences.text: The
sentences.text: Hunt
sentences.text: Before
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: two
sentences.text: years
sentences.text: old
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: circumstance
sentences.text: happened
sentences.text: which
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: have
sentences.text: never
sentences.text: forgotten
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: It was early in the spring; there had been a little frost in the night, and a light mist still hung over the woods and meadows.
sentences.text: It
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: early
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: spring
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: there
sentences.text: had
sentences.text: been
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: little
sentences.text: frost
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: night
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: light
sentences.text: mist
sentences.text: still
sentences.text: hung
sentences.text: over
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: woods
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: meadows
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: I and the other colts were feeding at the lower part of the field when we heard, quite in the distance, what sounded like the cry of dogs.
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: other
sentences.text: colts
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: feeding
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: lower
sentences.text: part
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: field
sentences.text: when
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: heard
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: quite
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: distance
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: what
sentences.text: sounded
sentences.text: like
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: cry
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: dogs
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: The oldest of the colts raised his head, pricked his ears, and said, “ There are the hounds! ” and immediately cantered off, followed by the rest of us to the upper part of the field, where we could look over the hedge and see several fields beyond.
sentences.text: The
sentences.text: oldest
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: colts
sentences.text: raised
sentences.text: his
sentences.text: head
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: pricked
sentences.text: his
sentences.text: ears
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: There
sentences.text: are
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: hounds
sentences.text: !
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: immediately
sentences.text: cantered
sentences.text: off
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: followed
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: rest
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: us
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: upper
sentences.text: part
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: field
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: where
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: could
sentences.text: look
sentences.text: over
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: hedge
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: see
sentences.text: several
sentences.text: fields
sentences.text: beyond
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: My mother and an old riding horse of our master ’s were also standing near, and seemed to know all about it.
sentences.text: My
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: an
sentences.text: old
sentences.text: riding
sentences.text: horse
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: our
sentences.text: master
sentences.text: ’s
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: also
sentences.text: standing
sentences.text: near
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: seemed
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: know
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: about
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: “ They have found a hare, ” said my mother, “ and if they come this way we shall see the hunt . ”
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: They
sentences.text: have
sentences.text: found
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: hare
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: if
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: come
sentences.text: this
sentences.text: way
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: shall
sentences.text: see
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: hunt
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: And soon the dogs were all tearing down the field of young wheat next to ours.
sentences.text: And
sentences.text: soon
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: dogs
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: tearing
sentences.text: down
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: field
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: young
sentences.text: wheat
sentences.text: next
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: ours
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: I never heard such a noise as they made.
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: never
sentences.text: heard
sentences.text: such
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: noise
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: made
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: They did not bark, nor howl, nor whine, but kept on a “ yo!
sentences.text: They
sentences.text: did
sentences.text: not
sentences.text: bark
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: nor
sentences.text: howl
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: nor
sentences.text: whine
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: kept
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: yo
sentences.text: !
sentences.text: yo, o, o!
sentences.text: yo
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: o
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: o
sentences.text: !
sentences.text: yo!
sentences.text: yo
sentences.text: !
sentences.text: yo, o, o! ” at the top of their voices.
sentences.text: yo
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: o
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: o
sentences.text: !
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: top
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: their
sentences.text: voices
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: After them came a number of men on horseback, some of them in green coats, all galloping as fast as they could.
sentences.text: After
sentences.text: them
sentences.text: came
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: number
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: men
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: horseback
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: some
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: them
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: green
sentences.text: coats
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: galloping
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: fast
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: could
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: The old horse snorted and looked eagerly after them, and we young colts wanted to be galloping with them, but they were soon away into the fields lower down; here it seemed as if they had come to a stand; the dogs left off barking, and ran about every way with their noses to the ground.
sentences.text: The
sentences.text: old
sentences.text: horse
sentences.text: snorted
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: looked
sentences.text: eagerly
sentences.text: after
sentences.text: them
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: young
sentences.text: colts
sentences.text: wanted
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: be
sentences.text: galloping
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: them
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: soon
sentences.text: away
sentences.text: into
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: fields
sentences.text: lower
sentences.text: down
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: here
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: seemed
sentences.text: as
sentences.text: if
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: had
sentences.text: come
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: stand
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: dogs
sentences.text: left
sentences.text: off
sentences.text: barking
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: ran
sentences.text: about
sentences.text: every
sentences.text: way
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: their
sentences.text: noses
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: ground
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: “ They have lost the scent, ” said the old horse; “ perhaps the hare will get off . ”
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: They
sentences.text: have
sentences.text: lost
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: scent
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: old
sentences.text: horse
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: perhaps
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: hare
sentences.text: will
sentences.text: get
sentences.text: off
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: “ What hare? ”
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: What
sentences.text: hare
sentences.text: ?
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: I said.
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: “ Oh!
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: Oh
sentences.text: !
sentences.text: I do n’t know what hare; likely enough it may be one of our own hares out of the woods; any hare they can find will do for the dogs and men to run after; ” and before long the dogs began their “ yo!
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: do
sentences.text: n’t
sentences.text: know
sentences.text: what
sentences.text: hare
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: likely
sentences.text: enough
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: may
sentences.text: be
sentences.text: one
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: our
sentences.text: own
sentences.text: hares
sentences.text: out
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: woods
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: any
sentences.text: hare
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: can
sentences.text: find
sentences.text: will
sentences.text: do
sentences.text: for
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: dogs
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: men
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: run
sentences.text: after
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: before
sentences.text: long
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: dogs
sentences.text: began
sentences.text: their
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: yo
sentences.text: !
sentences.text: yo, o, o! ” again, and back they came altogether at full speed, making straight for our meadow at the part where the high bank and hedge overhang the brook.
sentences.text: yo
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: o
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: o
sentences.text: !
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: again
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: back
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: came
sentences.text: altogether
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: full
sentences.text: speed
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: making
sentences.text: straight
sentences.text: for
sentences.text: our
sentences.text: meadow
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: part
sentences.text: where
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: high
sentences.text: bank
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: hedge
sentences.text: overhang
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: brook
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: “ Now we shall see the hare, ” said my mother; and just then a hare wild with fright rushed by and made for the woods.
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: Now
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: shall
sentences.text: see
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: hare
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: just
sentences.text: then
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: hare
sentences.text: wild
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: fright
sentences.text: rushed
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: made
sentences.text: for
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: woods
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: On came the dogs; they burst over the bank, leaped the stream, and came dashing across the field followed by the huntsmen.
sentences.text: On
sentences.text: came
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: dogs
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: burst
sentences.text: over
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: bank
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: leaped
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: stream
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: came
sentences.text: dashing
sentences.text: across
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: field
sentences.text: followed
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: huntsmen
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: Six or eight men leaped their horses clean over, close upon the dogs.
sentences.text: Six
sentences.text: or
sentences.text: eight
sentences.text: men
sentences.text: leaped
sentences.text: their
sentences.text: horses
sentences.text: clean
sentences.text: over
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: close
sentences.text: upon
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: dogs
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: The hare tried to get through the fence; it was too thick, and she turned sharp round to make for the road, but it was too late; the dogs were upon her with their wild cries; we heard one shriek, and that was the end of her.
sentences.text: The
sentences.text: hare
sentences.text: tried
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: get
sentences.text: through
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: fence
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: too
sentences.text: thick
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: she
sentences.text: turned
sentences.text: sharp
sentences.text: round
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: make
sentences.text: for
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: road
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: too
sentences.text: late
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: dogs
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: upon
sentences.text: her
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: their
sentences.text: wild
sentences.text: cries
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: heard
sentences.text: one
sentences.text: shriek
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: end
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: her
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: One of the huntsmen rode up and whipped off the dogs, who would soon have torn her to pieces.
sentences.text: One
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: huntsmen
sentences.text: rode
sentences.text: up
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: whipped
sentences.text: off
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: dogs
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: who
sentences.text: would
sentences.text: soon
sentences.text: have
sentences.text: torn
sentences.text: her
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: pieces
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: He held her up by the leg torn and bleeding, and all the gentlemen seemed well pleased.
sentences.text: He
sentences.text: held
sentences.text: her
sentences.text: up
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: leg
sentences.text: torn
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: bleeding
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: gentlemen
sentences.text: seemed
sentences.text: well
sentences.text: pleased
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: As for me, I was so astonished that I did not at first see what was going on by the brook; but when I did look there was a sad sight; two fine horses were down, one was struggling in the stream, and the other was groaning on the grass.
sentences.text: As
sentences.text: for
sentences.text: me
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: so
sentences.text: astonished
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: did
sentences.text: not
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: first
sentences.text: see
sentences.text: what
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: going
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: by
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: brook
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: when
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: did
sentences.text: look
sentences.text: there
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: sad
sentences.text: sight
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: two
sentences.text: fine
sentences.text: horses
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: down
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: one
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: struggling
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: stream
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: other
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: groaning
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: grass
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: One of the riders was getting out of the water covered with mud, the other lay quite still.
sentences.text: One
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: riders
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: getting
sentences.text: out
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: water
sentences.text: covered
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: mud
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: other
sentences.text: lay
sentences.text: quite
sentences.text: still
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: “ His neck is broke, ” said my mother.
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: His
sentences.text: neck
sentences.text: is
sentences.text: broke
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: “ And serve him right, too, ” said one of the colts.
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: And
sentences.text: serve
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: right
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: too
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: one
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: colts
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: I thought the same, but my mother did not join with us.
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: thought
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: same
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: did
sentences.text: not
sentences.text: join
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: us
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: “ Well, no, ” she said, “ you must not say that; but though I am an old horse, and have seen and heard a great deal, I never yet could make out why men are so fond of this sport; they often hurt themselves, often spoil good horses, and tear up the fields, and all for a hare or a fox, or a stag, that they could get more easily some other way; but we are only horses, and do n’t know . ”
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: Well
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: no
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: she
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: you
sentences.text: must
sentences.text: not
sentences.text: say
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: though
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: am
sentences.text: an
sentences.text: old
sentences.text: horse
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: have
sentences.text: seen
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: heard
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: great
sentences.text: deal
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: never
sentences.text: yet
sentences.text: could
sentences.text: make
sentences.text: out
sentences.text: why
sentences.text: men
sentences.text: are
sentences.text: so
sentences.text: fond
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: this
sentences.text: sport
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: often
sentences.text: hurt
sentences.text: themselves
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: often
sentences.text: spoil
sentences.text: good
sentences.text: horses
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: tear
sentences.text: up
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: fields
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: for
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: hare
sentences.text: or
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: fox
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: or
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: stag
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: they
sentences.text: could
sentences.text: get
sentences.text: more
sentences.text: easily
sentences.text: some
sentences.text: other
sentences.text: way
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: are
sentences.text: only
sentences.text: horses
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: do
sentences.text: n’t
sentences.text: know
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: While my mother was saying this we stood and looked on.
sentences.text: While
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: saying
sentences.text: this
sentences.text: we
sentences.text: stood
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: looked
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: Many of the riders had gone to the young man; but my master, who had been watching what was going on, was the first to raise him.
sentences.text: Many
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: riders
sentences.text: had
sentences.text: gone
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: young
sentences.text: man
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: but
sentences.text: my
sentences.text: master
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: who
sentences.text: had
sentences.text: been
sentences.text: watching
sentences.text: what
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: going
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: first
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: raise
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: His head fell back and his arms hung down, and every one looked very serious.
sentences.text: His
sentences.text: head
sentences.text: fell
sentences.text: back
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: his
sentences.text: arms
sentences.text: hung
sentences.text: down
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: every
sentences.text: one
sentences.text: looked
sentences.text: very
sentences.text: serious
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: There was no noise now; even the dogs were quiet, and seemed to know that something was wrong.
sentences.text: There
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: no
sentences.text: noise
sentences.text: now
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: even
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: dogs
sentences.text: were
sentences.text: quiet
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: seemed
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: know
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: something
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: wrong
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: They carried him to our master ’s house.
sentences.text: They
sentences.text: carried
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: our
sentences.text: master
sentences.text: ’s
sentences.text: house
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: I heard afterward that it was young George Gordon, the squire ’s only son, a fine, tall young man, and the pride of his family.
sentences.text: I
sentences.text: heard
sentences.text: afterward
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: it
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: young
sentences.text: George
sentences.text: Gordon
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: squire
sentences.text: ’s
sentences.text: only
sentences.text: son
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: fine
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: tall
sentences.text: young
sentences.text: man
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: pride
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: his
sentences.text: family
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: There was now riding off in all directions to the doctor ’s, to the farrier ’s, and no doubt to Squire Gordon ’s, to let him know about his son.
sentences.text: There
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: now
sentences.text: riding
sentences.text: off
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: directions
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: doctor
sentences.text: ’s
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: farrier
sentences.text: ’s
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: no
sentences.text: doubt
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: Squire
sentences.text: Gordon
sentences.text: ’s
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: let
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: know
sentences.text: about
sentences.text: his
sentences.text: son
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: When Mr. Bond, the farrier, came to look at the black horse that lay groaning on the grass, he felt him all over, and shook his head; one of his legs was broken.
sentences.text: When
sentences.text: Mr.
sentences.text: Bond
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: farrier
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: came
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: look
sentences.text: at
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: black
sentences.text: horse
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: lay
sentences.text: groaning
sentences.text: on
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: grass
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: felt
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: over
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: shook
sentences.text: his
sentences.text: head
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: one
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: his
sentences.text: legs
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: broken
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: Then some one ran to our master ’s house and came back with a gun; presently there was a loud bang and a dreadful shriek, and then all was still; the black horse moved no more.
sentences.text: Then
sentences.text: some
sentences.text: one
sentences.text: ran
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: our
sentences.text: master
sentences.text: ’s
sentences.text: house
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: came
sentences.text: back
sentences.text: with
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: gun
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: presently
sentences.text: there
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: loud
sentences.text: bang
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: dreadful
sentences.text: shriek
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: then
sentences.text: all
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: still
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: black
sentences.text: horse
sentences.text: moved
sentences.text: no
sentences.text: more
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: My mother seemed much troubled; she said she had known that horse for years, and that his name was “ Rob Roy ”; he was a good horse, and there was no vice in him.
sentences.text: My
sentences.text: mother
sentences.text: seemed
sentences.text: much
sentences.text: troubled
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: she
sentences.text: said
sentences.text: she
sentences.text: had
sentences.text: known
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: horse
sentences.text: for
sentences.text: years
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: his
sentences.text: name
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: “
sentences.text: Rob
sentences.text: Roy
sentences.text: ”
sentences.text: ;
sentences.text: he
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: a
sentences.text: good
sentences.text: horse
sentences.text: ,
sentences.text: and
sentences.text: there
sentences.text: was
sentences.text: no
sentences.text: vice
sentences.text: in
sentences.text: him
sentences.text: .
sentences.text: She never would go to that part of the field afterward.
sentences.text: She
sentences.text: never
sentences.text: would
sentences.text: go
sentences.text: to
sentences.text: that
sentences.text: part
sentences.text: of
sentences.text: the
sentences.text: field
sentences.text: afterward
sentences.text: .
text: Part I
  
  
  
  
  01 My Early Home
  
  
  The first place that I can well remember was a large pleasant meadow
  with a pond of clear water in it. Some shady trees leaned over it, and
  rushes and water-lilies grew at the deep end. Over the hedge on one side
  we looked into a plowed field, and on the other we looked over a gate
  at our master’s house, which stood by the roadside; at the top of the
  meadow was a grove of fir trees, and at the bottom a running brook
  overhung by a steep bank.
  
  While I was young I lived upon my mother’s milk, as I could not eat
  grass. In the daytime I ran by her side, and at night I lay down close
  by her. When it was hot we used to stand by the pond in the shade of the
  trees, and when it was cold we had a nice warm shed near the grove.
  
  As soon as I was old enough to eat grass my mother used to go out to
  work in the daytime, and come back in the evening.
  
  There were six young colts in the meadow besides me; they were older
  than I was; some were nearly as large as grown-up horses. I used to run
  with them, and had great fun; we used to gallop all together round and
  round the field as hard as we could go. Sometimes we had rather rough
  play, for they would frequently bite and kick as well as gallop.
  
  One day, when there was a good deal of kicking, my mother whinnied to me
  to come to her, and then she said:
  
  “I wish you to pay attention to what I am going to say to you. The colts
  who live here are very good colts, but they are cart-horse colts, and
  of course they have not learned manners. You have been well-bred
  and well-born; your father has a great name in these parts, and
  your grandfather won the cup two years at the Newmarket races; your
  grandmother had the sweetest temper of any horse I ever knew, and I
  think you have never seen me kick or bite. I hope you will grow up
  gentle and good, and never learn bad ways; do your work with a good
  will, lift your feet up well when you trot, and never bite or kick even
  in play.”
  
  I have never forgotten my mother’s advice; I knew she was a wise old
  horse, and our master thought a great deal of her. Her name was Duchess,
  but he often called her Pet.
  
  Our master was a good, kind man. He gave us good food, good lodging, and
  kind words; he spoke as kindly to us as he did to his little children.
  We were all fond of him, and my mother loved him very much. When she saw
  him at the gate she would neigh with joy, and trot up to him. He would
  pat and stroke her and say, “Well, old Pet, and how is your little
  Darkie?” I was a dull black, so he called me Darkie; then he would give
  me a piece of bread, which was very good, and sometimes he brought a
  carrot for my mother. All the horses would come to him, but I think we
  were his favorites. My mother always took him to the town on a market
  day in a light gig.
  
  There was a plowboy, Dick, who sometimes came into our field to pluck
  blackberries from the hedge. When he had eaten all he wanted he would
  have what he called fun with the colts, throwing stones and sticks at
  them to make them gallop. We did not much mind him, for we could gallop
  off; but sometimes a stone would hit and hurt us.
  
  One day he was at this game, and did not know that the master was in the
  next field; but he was there, watching what was going on; over the hedge
  he jumped in a snap, and catching Dick by the arm, he gave him such a
  box on the ear as made him roar with the pain and surprise. As soon as
  we saw the master we trotted up nearer to see what went on.
  
  “Bad boy!” he said, “bad boy! to chase the colts. This is not the first
  time, nor the second, but it shall be the last. There--take your money
  and go home; I shall not want you on my farm again.” So we never saw
  Dick any more. Old Daniel, the man who looked after the horses, was just
  as gentle as our master, so we were well off.
  
  
  
  
  02 The Hunt
  
  
  Before I was two years old a circumstance happened which I have never
  forgotten. It was early in the spring; there had been a little frost in
  the night, and a light mist still hung over the woods and meadows. I
  and the other colts were feeding at the lower part of the field when
  we heard, quite in the distance, what sounded like the cry of dogs. The
  oldest of the colts raised his head, pricked his ears, and said, “There
  are the hounds!” and immediately cantered off, followed by the rest of
  us to the upper part of the field, where we could look over the hedge
  and see several fields beyond. My mother and an old riding horse of our
  master’s were also standing near, and seemed to know all about it.
  
  “They have found a hare,” said my mother, “and if they come this way we
  shall see the hunt.”
  
  And soon the dogs were all tearing down the field of young wheat next
  to ours. I never heard such a noise as they made. They did not bark, nor
  howl, nor whine, but kept on a “yo! yo, o, o! yo! yo, o, o!” at the top
  of their voices. After them came a number of men on horseback, some of
  them in green coats, all galloping as fast as they could. The old horse
  snorted and looked eagerly after them, and we young colts wanted to be
  galloping with them, but they were soon away into the fields lower
  down; here it seemed as if they had come to a stand; the dogs left off
  barking, and ran about every way with their noses to the ground.
  
  “They have lost the scent,” said the old horse; “perhaps the hare will
  get off.”
  
  “What hare?” I said.
  
  “Oh! I don’t know what hare; likely enough it may be one of our own
  hares out of the woods; any hare they can find will do for the dogs and
  men to run after;” and before long the dogs began their “yo! yo, o, o!”
   again, and back they came altogether at full speed, making straight for
  our meadow at the part where the high bank and hedge overhang the brook.
  
  “Now we shall see the hare,” said my mother; and just then a hare wild
  with fright rushed by and made for the woods. On came the dogs; they
  burst over the bank, leaped the stream, and came dashing across the
  field followed by the huntsmen. Six or eight men leaped their horses
  clean over, close upon the dogs. The hare tried to get through the
  fence; it was too thick, and she turned sharp round to make for the
  road, but it was too late; the dogs were upon her with their wild cries;
  we heard one shriek, and that was the end of her. One of the huntsmen
  rode up and whipped off the dogs, who would soon have torn her to
  pieces. He held her up by the leg torn and bleeding, and all the
  gentlemen seemed well pleased.
  
  As for me, I was so astonished that I did not at first see what was
  going on by the brook; but when I did look there was a sad sight; two
  fine horses were down, one was struggling in the stream, and the other
  was groaning on the grass. One of the riders was getting out of the
  water covered with mud, the other lay quite still.
  
  “His neck is broke,” said my mother.
  
  “And serve him right, too,” said one of the colts.
  
  I thought the same, but my mother did not join with us.
  
  “Well, no,” she said, “you must not say that; but though I am an old
  horse, and have seen and heard a great deal, I never yet could make out
  why men are so fond of this sport; they often hurt themselves, often
  spoil good horses, and tear up the fields, and all for a hare or a fox,
  or a stag, that they could get more easily some other way; but we are
  only horses, and don’t know.”
  
  While my mother was saying this we stood and looked on. Many of the
  riders had gone to the young man; but my master, who had been watching
  what was going on, was the first to raise him. His head fell back and
  his arms hung down, and every one looked very serious. There was no
  noise now; even the dogs were quiet, and seemed to know that something
  was wrong. They carried him to our master’s house. I heard afterward
  that it was young George Gordon, the squire’s only son, a fine, tall
  young man, and the pride of his family.
  
  There was now riding off in all directions to the doctor’s, to the
  farrier’s, and no doubt to Squire Gordon’s, to let him know about his
  son. When Mr. Bond, the farrier, came to look at the black horse that
  lay groaning on the grass, he felt him all over, and shook his head; one
  of his legs was broken. Then some one ran to our master’s house and came
  back with a gun; presently there was a loud bang and a dreadful shriek,
  and then all was still; the black horse moved no more.
  
  My mother seemed much troubled; she said she had known that horse for
  years, and that his name was “Rob Roy”; he was a good horse, and
  there was no vice in him. She never would go to that part of the field
  afterward.
  
  Not many days after we heard the church-bell tolling for a long time,
  and looking over the gate we saw a long, strange black coach that was
  covered with black cloth and was drawn by black horses; after that came
  another and another and another, and all were black, while the bell kept
  tolling, tolling. They were carrying young Gordon to the churchyard to
  bury him. He would never ride again. What they did with Rob Roy I never
  knew; but ‘twas all for one little hare.
  
  
  
  
  03 My Breaking In
  
  
  I was now beginning to grow handsome; my coat had grown fine and soft,
  and was bright black. I had one white foot and a pretty white star on my
  forehead. I was thought very handsome; my master would not sell me till
  I was four years old; he said lads ought not to work like men, and colts
  ought not to work like horses till they were quite grown up.
  
  When I was four years old Squire Gordon came to look at me. He examined
  my eyes, my mouth, and my legs; he felt them all down; and then I had
  to walk and trot and gallop before him. He seemed to like me, and said,
  “When he has been well broken in he will do very well.” My master said
  he would break me in himself, as he should not like me to be frightened
  or hurt, and he lost no time about it, for the next day he began.
  
  Every one may not know what breaking in is, therefore I will describe
  it. It means to teach a horse to wear a saddle and bridle, and to carry
  on his back a man, woman or child; to go just the way they wish, and to
  go quietly. Besides this he has to learn to wear a collar, a crupper,
  and a breeching, and to stand still while they are put on; then to have
  a cart or a chaise fixed behind, so that he cannot walk or trot without
  dragging it after him; and he must go fast or slow, just as his driver
  wishes. He must never start at what he sees, nor speak to other horses,
  nor bite, nor kick, nor have any will of his own; but always do his
  master’s will, even though he may be very tired or hungry; but the worst
  of all is, when his harness is once on, he may neither jump for joy nor
  lie down for weariness. So you see this breaking in is a great thing.
  
  I had of course long been used to a halter and a headstall, and to be
  led about in the fields and lanes quietly, but now I was to have a bit
  and bridle; my master gave me some oats as usual, and after a good deal
  of coaxing he got the bit into my mouth, and the bridle fixed, but it
  was a nasty thing! Those who have never had a bit in their mouths cannot
  think how bad it feels; a great piece of cold hard steel as thick as
  a man’s finger to be pushed into one’s mouth, between one’s teeth, and
  over one’s tongue, with the ends coming out at the corner of your mouth,
  and held fast there by straps over your head, under your throat, round
  your nose, and under your chin; so that no way in the world can you get
  rid of the nasty hard thing; it is very bad! yes, very bad! at least I
  thought so; but I knew my mother always wore one when she went out, and
  all horses did when they were grown up; and so, what with the nice oats,
  and what with my master’s pats, kind words, and gentle ways, I got to
  wear my bit and bridle.
  
  Next came the saddle, but that was not half so bad; my master put it
  on my back very gently, while old Daniel held my head; he then made the
  girths fast under my body, patting and talking to me all the time; then
  I had a few oats, then a little leading about; and this he did every
  day till I began to look for the oats and the saddle. At length, one
  morning, my master got on my back and rode me round the meadow on the
  soft grass. It certainly did feel queer; but I must say I felt rather
  proud to carry my master, and as he continued to ride me a little every
  day I soon became accustomed to it.
  
  The next unpleasant business was putting on the iron shoes; that too was
  very hard at first. My master went with me to the smith’s forge, to see
  that I was not hurt or got any fright. The blacksmith took my feet in
  his hand, one after the other, and cut away some of the hoof. It did not
  pain me, so I stood still on three legs till he had done them all. Then
  he took a piece of iron the shape of my foot, and clapped it on, and
  drove some nails through the shoe quite into my hoof, so that the shoe
  was firmly on. My feet felt very stiff and heavy, but in time I got used
  to it.
  
  And now having got so far, my master went on to break me to harness;
  there were more new things to wear. First, a stiff heavy collar just
  on my neck, and a bridle with great side-pieces against my eyes called
  blinkers, and blinkers indeed they were, for I could not see on either
  side, but only straight in front of me; next, there was a small saddle
  with a nasty stiff strap that went right under my tail; that was the
  crupper. I hated the crupper; to have my long tail doubled up and poked
  through that strap was almost as bad as the bit. I never felt more like
  kicking, but of course I could not kick such a good master, and so
  in time I got used to everything, and could do my work as well as my
  mother.
  
  I must not forget to mention one part of my training, which I have
  always considered a very great advantage. My master sent me for a
  fortnight to a neighboring farmer’s, who had a meadow which was skirted
  on one side by the railway. Here were some sheep and cows, and I was
  turned in among them.
  
  I shall never forget the first train that ran by. I was feeding quietly
  near the pales which separated the meadow from the railway, when I heard
  a strange sound at a distance, and before I knew whence it came--with
  a rush and a clatter, and a puffing out of smoke--a long black train of
  something flew by, and was gone almost before I could draw my breath. I
  turned and galloped to the further side of the meadow as fast as I could
  go, and there I stood snorting with astonishment and fear. In the course
  of the day many other trains went by, some more slowly; these drew up
  at the station close by, and sometimes made an awful shriek and groan
  before they stopped. I thought it very dreadful, but the cows went
  on eating very quietly, and hardly raised their heads as the black
  frightful thing came puffing and grinding past.
  
  For the first few days I could not feed in peace; but as I found that
  this terrible creature never came into the field, or did me any harm, I
  began to disregard it, and very soon I cared as little about the passing
  of a train as the cows and sheep did.
  
  Since then I have seen many horses much alarmed and restive at the sight
  or sound of a steam engine; but thanks to my good master’s care, I am as
  fearless at railway stations as in my own stable.
  
  Now if any one wants to break in a young horse well, that is the way.
  
  My master often drove me in double harness with my mother, because she
  was steady and could teach me how to go better than a strange horse. She
  told me the better I behaved the better I should be treated, and that
  it was wisest always to do my best to please my master; “but,” said she,
  “there are a great many kinds of men; there are good thoughtful men like
  our master, that any horse may be proud to serve; and there are bad,
  cruel men, who never ought to have a horse or dog to call their own.
  Besides, there are a great many foolish men, vain, ignorant, and
  careless, who never trouble themselves to think; these spoil more horses
  than all, just for want of sense; they don’t mean it, but they do it for
  all that. I hope you will fall into good hands; but a horse never knows
  who may buy him, or who may drive him; it is all a chance for us; but
  still I say, do your best wherever it is, and keep up your good name.”
  
  
  
  
  04 Birtwick Park
  
  
  At this time I used to stand in the stable and my coat was brushed every
  day till it shone like a rook’s wing. It was early in May, when there
  came a man from Squire Gordon’s, who took me away to the hall. My master
  said, “Good-by, Darkie; be a good horse, and always do your best.” I
  could not say “good-by”, so I put my nose into his hand; he patted me
  kindly, and I left my first home. As I lived some years with Squire
  Gordon, I may as well tell something about the place.
  
  Squire Gordon’s park skirted the village of Birtwick. It was entered by
  a large iron gate, at which stood the first lodge, and then you trotted
  along on a smooth road between clumps of large old trees; then another
  lodge and another gate, which brought you to the house and the gardens.
  Beyond this lay the home paddock, the old orchard, and the stables.
  There was accommodation for many horses and carriages; but I need only
  describe the stable into which I was taken; this was very roomy, with
  four good stalls; a large swinging window opened into the yard, which
  made it pleasant and airy.
  
  The first stall was a large square one, shut in behind with a wooden
  gate; the others were common stalls, good stalls, but not nearly so
  large; it had a low rack for hay and a low manger for corn; it was
  called a loose box, because the horse that was put into it was not tied
  up, but left loose, to do as he liked. It is a great thing to have a
  loose box.
  
  Into this fine box the groom put me; it was clean, sweet, and airy. I
  never was in a better box than that, and the sides were not so high but
  that I could see all that went on through the iron rails that were at
  the top.
  
  He gave me some very nice oats, he patted me, spoke kindly, and then
  went away.
  
  When I had eaten my corn I looked round. In the stall next to mine stood
  a little fat gray pony, with a thick mane and tail, a very pretty head,
  and a pert little nose.
  
  I put my head up to the iron rails at the top of my box, and said, “How
  do you do? What is your name?”
  
  He turned round as far as his halter would allow, held up his head,
  and said, “My name is Merrylegs. I am very handsome; I carry the young
  ladies on my back, and sometimes I take our mistress out in the low
  chair. They think a great deal of me, and so does James. Are you going
  to live next door to me in the box?”
  
  I said, “Yes.”
  
  “Well, then,” he said, “I hope you are good-tempered; I do not like any
  one next door who bites.”
  
  Just then a horse’s head looked over from the stall beyond; the ears
  were laid back, and the eye looked rather ill-tempered. This was a tall
  chestnut mare, with a long handsome neck. She looked across to me and
  said:
  
  “So it is you who have turned me out of my box; it is a very strange
  thing for a colt like you to come and turn a lady out of her own home.”
  
  “I beg your pardon,” I said, “I have turned no one out; the man who
  brought me put me here, and I had nothing to do with it; and as to my
  being a colt, I am turned four years old and am a grown-up horse. I
  never had words yet with horse or mare, and it is my wish to live at
  peace.”
  
  “Well,” she said, “we shall see. Of course, I do not want to have words
  with a young thing like you.” I said no more.
  
  In the afternoon, when she went out, Merrylegs told me all about it.
  
  “The thing is this,” said Merrylegs. “Ginger has a bad habit of biting
  and snapping; that is why they call her Ginger, and when she was in the
  loose box she used to snap very much. One day she bit James in the arm
  and made it bleed, and so Miss Flora and Miss Jessie, who are very fond
  of me, were afraid to come into the stable. They used to bring me nice
  things to eat, an apple or a carrot, or a piece of bread, but after
  Ginger stood in that box they dared not come, and I missed them very
  much. I hope they will now come again, if you do not bite or snap.”
  
  I told him I never bit anything but grass, hay, and corn, and could not
  think what pleasure Ginger found it.
  
  “Well, I don’t think she does find pleasure,” says Merrylegs; “it is
  just a bad habit; she says no one was ever kind to her, and why should
  she not bite? Of course, it is a very bad habit; but I am sure, if all
  she says be true, she must have been very ill-used before she came here.
  John does all he can to please her, and James does all he can, and our
  master never uses a whip if a horse acts right; so I think she might be
  good-tempered here. You see,” he said, with a wise look, “I am twelve
  years old; I know a great deal, and I can tell you there is not a better
  place for a horse all round the country than this. John is the best
  groom that ever was; he has been here fourteen years; and you never saw
  such a kind boy as James is; so that it is all Ginger’s own fault that
  she did not stay in that box.”
  
  
  
  
  05 A Fair Start
  
  
  The name of the coachman was John Manly; he had a wife and one little
  child, and they lived in the coachman’s cottage, very near the stables.
  
  The next morning he took me into the yard and gave me a good grooming,
  and just as I was going into my box, with my coat soft and bright, the
  squire came in to look at me, and seemed pleased. “John,” he said,
  “I meant to have tried the new horse this morning, but I have other
  business. You may as well take him around after breakfast; go by the
  common and the Highwood, and back by the watermill and the river; that
  will show his paces.”
  
  “I will, sir,” said John. After breakfast he came and fitted me with a
  bridle. He was very particular in letting out and taking in the straps,
  to fit my head comfortably; then he brought a saddle, but it was not
  broad enough for my back; he saw it in a minute and went for another,
  which fitted nicely. He rode me first slowly, then a trot, then a
  canter, and when we were on the common he gave me a light touch with his
  whip, and we had a splendid gallop.
  
  “Ho, ho! my boy,” he said, as he pulled me up, “you would like to follow
  the hounds, I think.”
  
  As we came back through the park we met the Squire and Mrs. Gordon
  walking; they stopped, and John jumped off.
  
  “Well, John, how does he go?”
  
  “First-rate, sir,” answered John; “he is as fleet as a deer, and has a
  fine spirit too; but the lightest touch of the rein will guide him. Down
  at the end of the common we met one of those traveling carts hung all
  over with baskets, rugs, and such like; you know, sir, many horses will
  not pass those carts quietly; he just took a good look at it, and then
  went on as quiet and pleasant as could be. They were shooting rabbits
  near the Highwood, and a gun went off close by; he pulled up a little
  and looked, but did not stir a step to right or left. I just held the
  rein steady and did not hurry him, and it’s my opinion he has not been
  frightened or ill-used while he was young.”
  
  “That’s well,” said the squire, “I will try him myself to-morrow.”
  
  The next day I was brought up for my master. I remembered my mother’s
  counsel and my good old master’s, and I tried to do exactly what he
  wanted me to do. I found he was a very good rider, and thoughtful for
  his horse too. When he came home the lady was at the hall door as he
  rode up.
  
  “Well, my dear,” she said, “how do you like him?”
  
  “He is exactly what John said,” he replied; “a pleasanter creature I
  never wish to mount. What shall we call him?”
  
  “Would you like Ebony?” said she; “he is as black as ebony.”
  
  “No, not Ebony.”
  
  “Will you call him Blackbird, like your uncle’s old horse?”
  
  “No, he is far handsomer than old Blackbird ever was.”
  
  “Yes,” she said, “he is really quite a beauty, and he has such a sweet,
  good-tempered face, and such a fine, intelligent eye--what do you say to
  calling him Black Beauty?”
  
  “Black Beauty--why, yes, I think that is a very good name. If you like
  it shall be his name;” and so it was.
  
  When John went into the stable he told James that master and mistress
  had chosen a good, sensible English name for me, that meant something;
  not like Marengo, or Pegasus, or Abdallah. They both laughed, and James
  said, “If it was not for bringing back the past, I should have named him
  Rob Roy, for I never saw two horses more alike.”
  
  “That’s no wonder,” said John; “didn’t you know that Farmer Grey’s old
  Duchess was the mother of them both?”
  
  I had never heard that before; and so poor Rob Roy who was killed
  at that hunt was my brother! I did not wonder that my mother was so
  troubled. It seems that horses have no relations; at least they never
  know each other after they are sold.
  
  John seemed very proud of me; he used to make my mane and tail almost as
  smooth as a lady’s hair, and he would talk to me a great deal; of course
  I did not understand all he said, but I learned more and more to know
  what he meant, and what he wanted me to do. I grew very fond of him, he
  was so gentle and kind; he seemed to know just how a horse feels, and
  when he cleaned me he knew the tender places and the ticklish places;
  when he brushed my head he went as carefully over my eyes as if they
  were his own, and never stirred up any ill-temper.
  
  James Howard, the stable boy, was just as gentle and pleasant in his
  way, so I thought myself well off. There was another man who helped in
  the yard, but he had very little to do with Ginger and me.
  
  A few days after this I had to go out with Ginger in the carriage. I
  wondered how we should get on together; but except laying her ears
  back when I was led up to her, she behaved very well. She did her work
  honestly, and did her full share, and I never wish to have a better
  partner in double harness. When we came to a hill, instead of slackening
  her pace, she would throw her weight right into the collar, and pull
  away straight up. We had both the same sort of courage at our work, and
  John had oftener to hold us in than to urge us forward; he never had to
  use the whip with either of us; then our paces were much the same, and
  I found it very easy to keep step with her when trotting, which made it
  pleasant, and master always liked it when we kept step well, and so did
  John. After we had been out two or three times together we grew quite
  friendly and sociable, which made me feel very much at home.
  
  As for Merrylegs, he and I soon became great friends; he was such a
  cheerful, plucky, good-tempered little fellow that he was a favorite
  with every one, and especially with Miss Jessie and Flora, who used to
  ride him about in the orchard, and have fine games with him and their
  little dog Frisky.
  
  Our master had two other horses that stood in another stable. One was
  Justice, a roan cob, used for riding or for the luggage cart; the other
  was an old brown hunter, named Sir Oliver; he was past work now, but was
  a great favorite with the master, who gave him the run of the park; he
  sometimes did a little light carting on the estate, or carried one of
  the young ladies when they rode out with their father, for he was very
  gentle and could be trusted with a child as well as Merrylegs. The cob
  was a strong, well-made, good-tempered horse, and we sometimes had a
  little chat in the paddock, but of course I could not be so intimate
  with him as with Ginger, who stood in the same stable.
  
  
  
  
  06 Liberty
  
  
  I was quite happy in my new place, and if there was one thing that I
  missed it must not be thought I was discontented; all who had to do with
  me were good and I had a light airy stable and the best of food. What
  more could I want? Why, liberty! For three years and a half of my life
  I had had all the liberty I could wish for; but now, week after week,
  month after month, and no doubt year after year, I must stand up in a
  stable night and day except when I am wanted, and then I must be just
  as steady and quiet as any old horse who has worked twenty years. Straps
  here and straps there, a bit in my mouth, and blinkers over my eyes.
  Now, I am not complaining, for I know it must be so. I only mean to say
  that for a young horse full of strength and spirits, who has been used
  to some large field or plain where he can fling up his head and toss up
  his tail and gallop away at full speed, then round and back again with
  a snort to his companions--I say it is hard never to have a bit more
  liberty to do as you like. Sometimes, when I have had less exercise than
  usual, I have felt so full of life and spring that when John has taken
  me out to exercise I really could not keep quiet; do what I would, it
  seemed as if I must jump, or dance, or prance, and many a good shake I
  know I must have given him, especially at the first; but he was always
  good and patient.
  
  “Steady, steady, my boy,” he would say; “wait a bit, and we will have a
  good swing, and soon get the tickle out of your feet.” Then as soon as
  we were out of the village, he would give me a few miles at a spanking
  trot, and then bring me back as fresh as before, only clear of the
  fidgets, as he called them. Spirited horses, when not enough exercised,
  are often called skittish, when it is only play; and some grooms will
  punish them, but our John did not; he knew it was only high spirits.
  Still, he had his own ways of making me understand by the tone of
  his voice or the touch of the rein. If he was very serious and quite
  determined, I always knew it by his voice, and that had more power with
  me than anything else, for I was very fond of him.
  
  I ought to say that sometimes we had our liberty for a few hours; this
  used to be on fine Sundays in the summer-time. The carriage never went
  out on Sundays, because the church was not far off.
  
  It was a great treat to us to be turned out into the home paddock or
  the old orchard; the grass was so cool and soft to our feet, the air so
  sweet, and the freedom to do as we liked was so pleasant--to gallop, to
  lie down, and roll over on our backs, or to nibble the sweet grass.
  Then it was a very good time for talking, as we stood together under the
  shade of the large chestnut tree.
  
  
  
  
  07 Ginger
  
  
  One day when Ginger and I were standing alone in the shade, we had a
  great deal of talk; she wanted to know all about my bringing up and
  breaking in, and I told her.
  
  “Well,” said she, “if I had had your bringing up I might have had as
  good a temper as you, but now I don’t believe I ever shall.”
  
  “Why not?” I said.
  
  “Because it has been all so different with me,” she replied. “I never
  had any one, horse or man, that was kind to me, or that I cared to
  please, for in the first place I was taken from my mother as soon as I
  was weaned, and put with a lot of other young colts; none of them cared
  for me, and I cared for none of them. There was no kind master like
  yours to look after me, and talk to me, and bring me nice things to eat.
  The man that had the care of us never gave me a kind word in my life.
  I do not mean that he ill-used me, but he did not care for us one
  bit further than to see that we had plenty to eat, and shelter in the
  winter. A footpath ran through our field, and very often the great boys
  passing through would fling stones to make us gallop. I was never hit,
  but one fine young colt was badly cut in the face, and I should think
  it would be a scar for life. We did not care for them, but of course
  it made us more wild, and we settled it in our minds that boys were our
  enemies. We had very good fun in the free meadows, galloping up and down
  and chasing each other round and round the field; then standing still
  under the shade of the trees. But when it came to breaking in, that was
  a bad time for me; several men came to catch me, and when at last they
  closed me in at one corner of the field, one caught me by the forelock,
  another caught me by the nose and held it so tight I could hardly draw
  my breath; then another took my under jaw in his hard hand and wrenched
  my mouth open, and so by force they got on the halter and the bar into
  my mouth; then one dragged me along by the halter, another flogging
  behind, and this was the first experience I had of men’s kindness; it
  was all force. They did not give me a chance to know what they wanted.
  I was high bred and had a great deal of spirit, and was very wild, no
  doubt, and gave them, I dare say, plenty of trouble, but then it was
  dreadful to be shut up in a stall day after day instead of having my
  liberty, and I fretted and pined and wanted to get loose. You know
  yourself it’s bad enough when you have a kind master and plenty of
  coaxing, but there was nothing of that sort for me.
  
  “There was one--the old master, Mr. Ryder--who, I think, could soon have
  brought me round, and could have done anything with me; but he had given
  up all the hard part of the trade to his son and to another experienced
  man, and he only came at times to oversee. His son was a strong, tall,
  bold man; they called him Samson, and he used to boast that he had never
  found a horse that could throw him. There was no gentleness in him, as
  there was in his father, but only hardness, a hard voice, a hard eye, a
  hard hand; and I felt from the first that what he wanted was to wear all
  the spirit out of me, and just make me into a quiet, humble, obedient
  piece of horseflesh. ‘Horseflesh’! Yes, that is all that he thought
  about,” and Ginger stamped her foot as if the very thought of him made
  her angry. Then she went on:
  
  “If I did not do exactly what he wanted he would get put out, and make
  me run round with that long rein in the training field till he had
  tired me out. I think he drank a good deal, and I am quite sure that the
  oftener he drank the worse it was for me. One day he had worked me hard
  in every way he could, and when I lay down I was tired, and miserable,
  and angry; it all seemed so hard. The next morning he came for me early,
  and ran me round again for a long time. I had scarcely had an hour’s
  rest, when he came again for me with a saddle and bridle and a new kind
  of bit. I could never quite tell how it came about; he had only just
  mounted me on the training ground, when something I did put him out
  of temper, and he chucked me hard with the rein. The new bit was very
  painful, and I reared up suddenly, which angered him still more, and he
  began to flog me. I felt my whole spirit set against him, and I began
  to kick, and plunge, and rear as I had never done before, and we had a
  regular fight; for a long time he stuck to the saddle and punished me
  cruelly with his whip and spurs, but my blood was thoroughly up, and I
  cared for nothing he could do if only I could get him off. At last after
  a terrible struggle I threw him off backward. I heard him fall heavily
  on the turf, and without looking behind me, I galloped off to the other
  end of the field; there I turned round and saw my persecutor slowly
  rising from the ground and going into the stable. I stood under an oak
  tree and watched, but no one came to catch me. The time went on, and the
  sun was very hot; the flies swarmed round me and settled on my bleeding
  flanks where the spurs had dug in. I felt hungry, for I had not eaten
  since the early morning, but there was not enough grass in that meadow
  for a goose to live on. I wanted to lie down and rest, but with the
  saddle strapped tightly on there was no comfort, and there was not a
  drop of water to drink. The afternoon wore on, and the sun got low. I
  saw the other colts led in, and I knew they were having a good feed.
  
  “At last, just as the sun went down, I saw the old master come out with
  a sieve in his hand. He was a very fine old gentleman with quite white
  hair, but his voice was what I should know him by among a thousand. It
  was not high, nor yet low, but full, and clear, and kind, and when
  he gave orders it was so steady and decided that every one knew, both
  horses and men, that he expected to be obeyed. He came quietly along,
  now and then shaking the oats about that he had in the sieve, and
  speaking cheerfully and gently to me: ‘Come along, lassie, come along,
  lassie; come along, come along.’ I stood still and let him come up; he
  held the oats to me, and I began to eat without fear; his voice took all
  my fear away. He stood by, patting and stroking me while I was eating,
  and seeing the clots of blood on my side he seemed very vexed. ‘Poor
  lassie! it was a bad business, a bad business;’ then he quietly took the
  rein and led me to the stable; just at the door stood Samson. I laid my
  ears back and snapped at him. ‘Stand back,’ said the master, ‘and keep
  out of her way; you’ve done a bad day’s work for this filly.’ He growled
  out something about a vicious brute. ‘Hark ye,’ said the father, ‘a
  bad-tempered man will never make a good-tempered horse. You’ve not
  learned your trade yet, Samson.’ Then he led me into my box, took off
  the saddle and bridle with his own hands, and tied me up; then he called
  for a pail of warm water and a sponge, took off his coat, and while the
  stable-man held the pail, he sponged my sides a good while, so tenderly
  that I was sure he knew how sore and bruised they were. ‘Whoa! my pretty
  one,’ he said, ‘stand still, stand still.’ His very voice did me good,
  and the bathing was very comfortable. The skin was so broken at the
  corners of my mouth that I could not eat the hay, the stalks hurt me. He
  looked closely at it, shook his head, and told the man to fetch a good
  bran mash and put some meal into it. How good that mash was! and so soft
  and healing to my mouth. He stood by all the time I was eating, stroking
  me and talking to the man. ‘If a high-mettled creature like this,’
  said he, ‘can’t be broken by fair means, she will never be good for
  anything.’
  
  “After that he often came to see me, and when my mouth was healed the
  other breaker, Job, they called him, went on training me; he was steady
  and thoughtful, and I soon learned what he wanted.”
  
  
  
  
  08 Ginger’s Story Continued
  
  
  The next time that Ginger and I were together in the paddock she told me
  about her first place.
  
  “After my breaking in,” she said, “I was bought by a dealer to match
  another chestnut horse. For some weeks he drove us together, and then we
  were sold to a fashionable gentleman, and were sent up to London. I had
  been driven with a check-rein by the dealer, and I hated it worse
  than anything else; but in this place we were reined far tighter, the
  coachman and his master thinking we looked more stylish so. We were
  often driven about in the park and other fashionable places. You who
  never had a check-rein on don’t know what it is, but I can tell you it
  is dreadful.
  
  “I like to toss my head about and hold it as high as any horse; but
  fancy now yourself, if you tossed your head up high and were obliged to
  hold it there, and that for hours together, not able to move it at all,
  except with a jerk still higher, your neck aching till you did not know
  how to bear it. Besides that, to have two bits instead of one--and mine
  was a sharp one, it hurt my tongue and my jaw, and the blood from my
  tongue colored the froth that kept flying from my lips as I chafed and
  fretted at the bits and rein. It was worst when we had to stand by the
  hour waiting for our mistress at some grand party or entertainment, and
  if I fretted or stamped with impatience the whip was laid on. It was
  enough to drive one mad.”
  
  “Did not your master take any thought for you?” I said.
  
  “No,” said she, “he only cared to have a stylish turnout, as they
  call it; I think he knew very little about horses; he left that to his
  coachman, who told him I had an irritable temper! that I had not been
  well broken to the check-rein, but I should soon get used to it; but he
  was not the man to do it, for when I was in the stable, miserable and
  angry, instead of being smoothed and quieted by kindness, I got only a
  surly word or a blow. If he had been civil I would have tried to
  bear it. I was willing to work, and ready to work hard too; but to be
  tormented for nothing but their fancies angered me. What right had they
  to make me suffer like that? Besides the soreness in my mouth, and
  the pain in my neck, it always made my windpipe feel bad, and if I had
  stopped there long I know it would have spoiled my breathing; but I grew
  more and more restless and irritable, I could not help it; and I began
  to snap and kick when any one came to harness me; for this the groom
  beat me, and one day, as they had just buckled us into the carriage,
  and were straining my head up with that rein, I began to plunge and
  kick with all my might. I soon broke a lot of harness, and kicked myself
  clear; so that was an end of that place.
  
  “After this I was sent to Tattersall’s to be sold; of course I could not
  be warranted free from vice, so nothing was said about that. My handsome
  appearance and good paces soon brought a gentleman to bid for me, and I
  was bought by another dealer; he tried me in all kinds of ways and with
  different bits, and he soon found out what I could not bear. At last
  he drove me quite without a check-rein, and then sold me as a perfectly
  quiet horse to a gentleman in the country; he was a good master, and I
  was getting on very well, but his old groom left him and a new one came.
  This man was as hard-tempered and hard-handed as Samson; he always spoke
  in a rough, impatient voice, and if I did not move in the stall the
  moment he wanted me, he would hit me above the hocks with his stable
  broom or the fork, whichever he might have in his hand. Everything he
  did was rough, and I began to hate him; he wanted to make me afraid
  of him, but I was too high-mettled for that, and one day when he had
  aggravated me more than usual I bit him, which of course put him in a
  great rage, and he began to hit me about the head with a riding whip.
  After that he never dared to come into my stall again; either my heels
  or my teeth were ready for him, and he knew it. I was quite quiet with
  my master, but of course he listened to what the man said, and so I was
  sold again.
  
  “The same dealer heard of me, and said he thought he knew one place
  where I should do well. ‘’Twas a pity,’ he said, ‘that such a fine horse
  should go to the bad, for want of a real good chance,’ and the end of it
  was that I came here not long before you did; but I had then made up my
  mind that men were my natural enemies and that I must defend myself. Of
  course it is very different here, but who knows how long it will last? I
  wish I could think about things as you do; but I can’t, after all I have
  gone through.”
  
  “Well,” I said, “I think it would be a real shame if you were to bite or
  kick John or James.”
  
  “I don’t mean to,” she said, “while they are good to me. I did bite
  James once pretty sharp, but John said, ‘Try her with kindness,’ and
  instead of punishing me as I expected, James came to me with his arm
  bound up, and brought me a bran mash and stroked me; and I have never
  snapped at him since, and I won’t either.”
  
  I was sorry for Ginger, but of course I knew very little then, and I
  thought most likely she made the worst of it; however, I found that as
  the weeks went on she grew much more gentle and cheerful, and had lost
  the watchful, defiant look that she used to turn on any strange person
  who came near her; and one day James said, “I do believe that mare is
  getting fond of me, she quite whinnied after me this morning when I had
  been rubbing her forehead.”
  
  “Ay, ay, Jim, ‘tis ‘the Birtwick balls’,” said John, “she’ll be as good
  as Black Beauty by and by; kindness is all the physic she wants, poor
  thing!” Master noticed the change, too, and one day when he got out of
  the carriage and came to speak to us, as he often did, he stroked her
  beautiful neck. “Well, my pretty one, well, how do things go with you
  now? You are a good bit happier than when you came to us, I think.”
  
  She put her nose up to him in a friendly, trustful way, while he rubbed
  it gently.
  
  “We shall make a cure of her, John,” he said.
  
  “Yes, sir, she’s wonderfully improved; she’s not the same creature that
  she was; it’s ‘the Birtwick balls’, sir,” said John, laughing.
  
  This was a little joke of John’s; he used to say that a regular course
  of “the Birtwick horseballs” would cure almost any vicious horse; these
  balls, he said, were made up of patience and gentleness, firmness and
  petting, one pound of each to be mixed up with half a pint of common
  sense, and given to the horse every day.
  
  
  
  
  09 Merrylegs
  
  
  Mr. Blomefield, the vicar, had a large family of boys and girls;
  sometimes they used to come and play with Miss Jessie and Flora. One
  of the girls was as old as Miss Jessie; two of the boys were older, and
  there were several little ones. When they came there was plenty of work
  for Merrylegs, for nothing pleased them so much as getting on him by
  turns and riding him all about the orchard and the home paddock, and
  this they would do by the hour together.
  
  One afternoon he had been out with them a long time, and when James
  brought him in and put on his halter he said:
  
  “There, you rogue, mind how you behave yourself, or we shall get into
  trouble.”
  
  “What have you been doing, Merrylegs?” I asked.
  
  “Oh!” said he, tossing his little head, “I have only been giving those
  young people a lesson; they did not know when they had had enough, nor
  when I had had enough, so I just pitched them off backward; that was the
  only thing they could understand.”
  
  “What!” said I, “you threw the children off? I thought you did know
  better than that! Did you throw Miss Jessie or Miss Flora?”
  
  He looked very much offended, and said:
  
  “Of course not; I would not do such a thing for the best oats that ever
  came into the stable; why, I am as careful of our young ladies as the
  master could be, and as for the little ones it is I who teach them to
  ride. When they seem frightened or a little unsteady on my back I go as
  smooth and as quiet as old pussy when she is after a bird; and when they
  are all right I go on again faster, you see, just to use them to it; so
  don’t you trouble yourself preaching to me; I am the best friend and the
  best riding-master those children have. It is not them, it is the boys;
  boys,” said he, shaking his mane, “are quite different; they must be
  broken in as we were broken in when we were colts, and just be taught
  what’s what. The other children had ridden me about for nearly two
  hours, and then the boys thought it was their turn, and so it was, and
  I was quite agreeable. They rode me by turns, and I galloped them about,
  up and down the fields and all about the orchard, for a good hour. They
  had each cut a great hazel stick for a riding-whip, and laid it on a
  little too hard; but I took it in good part, till at last I thought we
  had had enough, so I stopped two or three times by way of a hint.
  Boys, you see, think a horse or pony is like a steam-engine or a
  thrashing-machine, and can go on as long and as fast as they please;
  they never think that a pony can get tired, or have any feelings; so as
  the one who was whipping me could not understand I just rose up on
  my hind legs and let him slip off behind--that was all. He mounted me
  again, and I did the same. Then the other boy got up, and as soon as
  he began to use his stick I laid him on the grass, and so on, till they
  were able to understand--that was all. They are not bad boys; they don’t
  wish to be cruel. I like them very well; but you see I had to give them
  a lesson. When they brought me to James and told him I think he was very
  angry to see such big sticks. He said they were only fit for drovers or
  gypsies, and not for young gentlemen.”
  
  “If I had been you,” said Ginger, “I would have given those boys a good
  kick, and that would have given them a lesson.”
  
  “No doubt you would,” said Merrylegs; “but then I am not quite such a
  fool (begging your pardon) as to anger our master or make James ashamed
  of me. Besides, those children are under my charge when they are riding;
  I tell you they are intrusted to me. Why, only the other day I heard our
  master say to Mrs. Blomefield, ‘My dear madam, you need not be anxious
  about the children; my old Merrylegs will take as much care of them as
  you or I could; I assure you I would not sell that pony for any money,
  he is so perfectly good-tempered and trustworthy;’ and do you think I am
  such an ungrateful brute as to forget all the kind treatment I have
  had here for five years, and all the trust they place in me, and turn
  vicious because a couple of ignorant boys used me badly? No, no! you
  never had a good place where they were kind to you, and so you don’t
  know, and I’m sorry for you; but I can tell you good places make good
  horses. I wouldn’t vex our people for anything; I love them, I do,” said
  Merrylegs, and he gave a low “ho, ho, ho!” through his nose, as he used
  to do in the morning when he heard James’ footstep at the door.
  
  “Besides,” he went on, “if I took to kicking where should I be? Why,
  sold off in a jiffy, and no character, and I might find myself slaved
  about under a butcher’s boy, or worked to death at some seaside place
  where no one cared for me, except to find out how fast I could go, or be
  flogged along in some cart with three or four great men in it going out
  for a Sunday spree, as I have often seen in the place I lived in before
  I came here; no,” said he, shaking his head, “I hope I shall never come
  to that.”
  
  
  
  
  10 A Talk in the Orchard
  
  
  Ginger and I were not of the regular tall carriage horse breed, we had
  more of the racing blood in us. We stood about fifteen and a half hands
  high; we were therefore just as good for riding as we were for driving,
  and our master used to say that he disliked either horse or man that
  could do but one thing; and as he did not want to show off in London
  parks, he preferred a more active and useful kind of horse. As for us,
  our greatest pleasure was when we were saddled for a riding party; the
  master on Ginger, the mistress on me, and the young ladies on Sir Oliver
  and Merrylegs. It was so cheerful to be trotting and cantering all
  together that it always put us in high spirits. I had the best of it,
  for I always carried the mistress; her weight was little, her voice was
  sweet, and her hand was so light on the rein that I was guided almost
  without feeling it.
  
  Oh! if people knew what a comfort to horses a light hand is, and how it
  keeps a good mouth and a good temper, they surely would not chuck, and
  drag, and pull at the rein as they often do. Our mouths are so tender
  that where they have not been spoiled or hardened with bad or ignorant
  treatment, they feel the slightest movement of the driver’s hand, and
  we know in an instant what is required of us. My mouth has never been
  spoiled, and I believe that was why the mistress preferred me to Ginger,
  although her paces were certainly quite as good. She used often to envy
  me, and said it was all the fault of breaking in, and the gag bit in
  London, that her mouth was not so perfect as mine; and then old Sir
  Oliver would say, “There, there! don’t vex yourself; you have the
  greatest honor; a mare that can carry a tall man of our master’s weight,
  with all your spring and sprightly action, does not need to hold her
  head down because she does not carry the lady; we horses must take
  things as they come, and always be contented and willing so long as we
  are kindly used.”
  
  I had often wondered how it was that Sir Oliver had such a very short
  tail; it really was only six or seven inches long, with a tassel of hair
  hanging from it; and on one of our holidays in the orchard I ventured to
  ask him by what accident it was that he had lost his tail. “Accident!”
   he snorted with a fierce look, “it was no accident! it was a cruel,
  shameful, cold-blooded act! When I was young I was taken to a place
  where these cruel things were done; I was tied up, and made fast so that
  I could not stir, and then they came and cut off my long and beautiful
  tail, through the flesh and through the bone, and took it away.
  
  “How dreadful!” I exclaimed.
  
  “Dreadful, ah! it was dreadful; but it was not only the pain, though
  that was terrible and lasted a long time; it was not only the indignity
  of having my best ornament taken from me, though that was bad; but it
  was this, how could I ever brush the flies off my sides and my hind legs
  any more? You who have tails just whisk the flies off without thinking
  about it, and you can’t tell what a torment it is to have them settle
  upon you and sting and sting, and have nothing in the world to lash them
  off with. I tell you it is a lifelong wrong, and a lifelong loss; but
  thank heaven, they don’t do it now.”
  
  “What did they do it for then?” said Ginger.
  
  “For fashion!” said the old horse with a stamp of his foot; “for
  fashion! if you know what that means; there was not a well-bred young
  horse in my time that had not his tail docked in that shameful way, just
  as if the good God that made us did not know what we wanted and what
  looked best.”
  
  “I suppose it is fashion that makes them strap our heads up with those
  horrid bits that I was tortured with in London,” said Ginger.
  
  “Of course it is,” said he; “to my mind, fashion is one of the wickedest
  things in the world. Now look, for instance, at the way they serve dogs,
  cutting off their tails to make them look plucky, and shearing up their
  pretty little ears to a point to make them both look sharp, forsooth. I
  had a dear friend once, a brown terrier; ‘Skye’ they called her. She was
  so fond of me that she never would sleep out of my stall; she made
  her bed under the manger, and there she had a litter of five as pretty
  little puppies as need be; none were drowned, for they were a valuable
  kind, and how pleased she was with them! and when they got their eyes
  open and crawled about, it was a real pretty sight; but one day the man
  came and took them all away; I thought he might be afraid I should tread
  upon them. But it was not so; in the evening poor Skye brought them back
  again, one by one in her mouth; not the happy little things that they
  were, but bleeding and crying pitifully; they had all had a piece of
  their tails cut off, and the soft flap of their pretty little ears was
  cut quite off. How their mother licked them, and how troubled she was,
  poor thing! I never forgot it. They healed in time, and they forgot the
  pain, but the nice soft flap, that of course was intended to protect the
  delicate part of their ears from dust and injury, was gone forever. Why
  don’t they cut their own children’s ears into points to make them look
  sharp? Why don’t they cut the end off their noses to make them look
  plucky? One would be just as sensible as the other. What right have they
  to torment and disfigure God’s creatures?”
  
  Sir Oliver, though he was so gentle, was a fiery old fellow, and what
  he said was all so new to me, and so dreadful, that I found a bitter
  feeling toward men rise up in my mind that I never had before. Of course
  Ginger was very much excited; she flung up her head with flashing
  eyes and distended nostrils, declaring that men were both brutes and
  blockheads.
  
  “Who talks about blockheads?” said Merrylegs, who just came up from
  the old apple-tree, where he had been rubbing himself against the low
  branch. “Who talks about blockheads? I believe that is a bad word.”
  
  “Bad words were made for bad things,” said Ginger, and she told him what
  Sir Oliver had said.
  
  “It is all true,” said Merrylegs sadly, “and I’ve seen that about the
  dogs over and over again where I lived first; but we won’t talk about
  it here. You know that master, and John and James are always good to
  us, and talking against men in such a place as this doesn’t seem fair
  or grateful, and you know there are good masters and good grooms beside
  ours, though of course ours are the best.”
  
  This wise speech of good little Merrylegs, which we knew was quite true,
  cooled us all down, especially Sir Oliver, who was dearly fond of his
  master; and to turn the subject I said, “Can any one tell me the use of
  blinkers?”
  
  “No!” said Sir Oliver shortly, “because they are no use.”
  
  “They are supposed,” said Justice, the roan cob, in his calm way, “to
  prevent horses from shying and starting, and getting so frightened as to
  cause accidents.”
  
  “Then what is the reason they do not put them on riding horses;
  especially on ladies’ horses?” said I.
  
  “There is no reason at all,” said he quietly, “except the fashion; they
  say that a horse would be so frightened to see the wheels of his own
  cart or carriage coming behind him that he would be sure to run away,
  although of course when he is ridden he sees them all about him if the
  streets are crowded. I admit they do sometimes come too close to be
  pleasant, but we don’t run away; we are used to it, and understand it,
  and if we never had blinkers put on we should never want them; we should
  see what was there, and know what was what, and be much less frightened
  than by only seeing bits of things that we can’t understand. Of course
  there may be some nervous horses who have been hurt or frightened when
  they were young, who may be the better for them; but as I never was
  nervous, I can’t judge.”
  
  “I consider,” said Sir Oliver, “that blinkers are dangerous things in
  the night; we horses can see much better in the dark than men can, and
  many an accident would never have happened if horses might have had the
  full use of their eyes. Some years ago, I remember, there was a hearse
  with two horses returning one dark night, and just by Farmer Sparrow’s
  house, where the pond is close to the road, the wheels went too near the
  edge, and the hearse was overturned into the water; both the horses were
  drowned, and the driver hardly escaped. Of course after this accident
  a stout white rail was put up that might be easily seen, but if those
  horses had not been partly blinded, they would of themselves have kept
  further from the edge, and no accident would have happened. When our
  master’s carriage was overturned, before you came here, it was said that
  if the lamp on the left side had not gone out, John would have seen the
  great hole that the road-makers had left; and so he might, but if old
  Colin had not had blinkers on he would have seen it, lamp or no lamp,
  for he was far too knowing an old horse to run into danger. As it was,
  he was very much hurt, the carriage was broken, and how John escaped
  nobody knew.”
  
  “I should say,” said Ginger, curling her nostril, “that these men, who
  are so wise, had better give orders that in the future all foals should
  be born with their eyes set just in the middle of their foreheads,
  instead of on the side; they always think they can improve upon nature
  and mend what God has made.”
  
  Things were getting rather sore again, when Merrylegs held up his
  knowing little face and said, “I’ll tell you a secret: I believe John
  does not approve of blinkers; I heard him talking with master about it
  one day. The master said that ‘if horses had been used to them, it might
  be dangerous in some cases to leave them off’; and John said he thought
  it would be a good thing if all colts were broken in without blinkers,
  as was the case in some foreign countries. So let us cheer up, and have
  a run to the other end of the orchard; I believe the wind has blown down
  some apples, and we might just as well eat them as the slugs.”
  
  Merrylegs could not be resisted, so we broke off our long conversation,
  and got up our spirits by munching some very sweet apples which lay
  scattered on the grass.
  
  
  
  
  11 Plain Speaking
  
  
  The longer I lived at Birtwick the more proud and happy I felt at having
  such a place. Our master and mistress were respected and beloved by all
  who knew them; they were good and kind to everybody and everything; not
  only men and women, but horses and donkeys, dogs and cats, cattle and
  birds; there was no oppressed or ill-used creature that had not a friend
  in them, and their servants took the same tone. If any of the village
  children were known to treat any creature cruelly they soon heard about
  it from the Hall.
  
  The squire and Farmer Grey had worked together, as they said, for more
  than twenty years to get check-reins on the cart-horses done away with,
  and in our parts you seldom saw them; and sometimes, if mistress met
  a heavily laden horse with his head strained up she would stop the
  carriage and get out, and reason with the driver in her sweet serious
  voice, and try to show him how foolish and cruel it was.
  
  I don’t think any man could withstand our mistress. I wish all ladies
  were like her. Our master, too, used to come down very heavy sometimes.
  I remember he was riding me toward home one morning when we saw a
  powerful man driving toward us in a light pony chaise, with a beautiful
  little bay pony, with slender legs and a high-bred sensitive head and
  face. Just as he came to the park gates the little thing turned toward
  them; the man, without word or warning, wrenched the creature’s head
  round with such a force and suddenness that he nearly threw it on its
  haunches. Recovering itself it was going on, when he began to lash it
  furiously. The pony plunged forward, but the strong, heavy hand held the
  pretty creature back with force almost enough to break its jaw, while
  the whip still cut into him. It was a dreadful sight to me, for I knew
  what fearful pain it gave that delicate little mouth; but master gave me
  the word, and we were up with him in a second.
  
  “Sawyer,” he cried in a stern voice, “is that pony made of flesh and
  blood?”
  
  “Flesh and blood and temper,” he said; “he’s too fond of his own will,
  and that won’t suit me.” He spoke as if he was in a strong passion. He
  was a builder who had often been to the park on business.
  
  “And do you think,” said master sternly, “that treatment like this will
  make him fond of your will?”
  
  “He had no business to make that turn; his road was straight on!” said
  the man roughly.
  
  “You have often driven that pony up to my place,” said master; “it only
  shows the creature’s memory and intelligence; how did he know that you
  were not going there again? But that has little to do with it. I must
  say, Mr. Sawyer, that a more unmanly, brutal treatment of a little
  pony it was never my painful lot to witness, and by giving way to such
  passion you injure your own character as much, nay more, than you injure
  your horse; and remember, we shall all have to be judged according to
  our works, whether they be toward man or toward beast.”
  
  Master rode me home slowly, and I could tell by his voice how the thing
  had grieved him. He was just as free to speak to gentlemen of his own
  rank as to those below him; for another day, when we were out, we met
  a Captain Langley, a friend of our master’s; he was driving a splendid
  pair of grays in a kind of break. After a little conversation the
  captain said:
  
  “What do you think of my new team, Mr. Douglas? You know, you are the
  judge of horses in these parts, and I should like your opinion.”
  
  The master backed me a little, so as to get a good view of them. “They
  are an uncommonly handsome pair,” he said, “and if they are as good as
  they look I am sure you need not wish for anything better; but I see
  you still hold that pet scheme of yours for worrying your horses and
  lessening their power.”
  
  “What do you mean,” said the other, “the check-reins? Oh, ah! I know
  that’s a hobby of yours; well, the fact is, I like to see my horses hold
  their heads up.”
  
  “So do I,” said master, “as well as any man, but I don’t like to
  see them held up; that takes all the shine out of it. Now, you are a
  military man, Langley, and no doubt like to see your regiment look well
  on parade, ‘heads up’, and all that; but you would not take much credit
  for your drill if all your men had their heads tied to a backboard! It
  might not be much harm on parade, except to worry and fatigue them; but
  how would it be in a bayonet charge against the enemy, when they want
  the free use of every muscle, and all their strength thrown forward? I
  would not give much for their chance of victory. And it is just the same
  with horses: you fret and worry their tempers, and decrease their power;
  you will not let them throw their weight against their work, and so
  they have to do too much with their joints and muscles, and of course
  it wears them up faster. You may depend upon it, horses were intended
  to have their heads free, as free as men’s are; and if we could act a
  little more according to common sense, and a good deal less according
  to fashion, we should find many things work easier; besides, you know as
  well as I that if a horse makes a false step, he has much less chance
  of recovering himself if his head and neck are fastened back. And now,”
   said the master, laughing, “I have given my hobby a good trot out, can’t
  you make up your mind to mount him, too, captain? Your example would go
  a long way.”
  
  “I believe you are right in theory,” said the other, “and that’s rather
  a hard hit about the soldiers; but--well--I’ll think about it,” and so
  they parted.
  
  
  
  
  12 A Stormy Day
  
  
  One day late in the autumn my master had a long journey to go on
  business. I was put into the dog-cart, and John went with his master. I
  always liked to go in the dog-cart, it was so light and the high wheels
  ran along so pleasantly. There had been a great deal of rain, and now
  the wind was very high and blew the dry leaves across the road in a
  shower. We went along merrily till we came to the toll-bar and the low
  wooden bridge. The river banks were rather high, and the bridge, instead
  of rising, went across just level, so that in the middle, if the river
  was full, the water would be nearly up to the woodwork and planks; but
  as there were good substantial rails on each side, people did not mind
  it.
  
  The man at the gate said the river was rising fast, and he feared it
  would be a bad night. Many of the meadows were under water, and in one
  low part of the road the water was halfway up to my knees; the bottom
  was good, and master drove gently, so it was no matter.
  
  When we got to the town of course I had a good bait, but as the master’s
  business engaged him a long time we did not start for home till rather
  late in the afternoon. The wind was then much higher, and I heard the
  master say to John that he had never been out in such a storm; and so I
  thought, as we went along the skirts of a wood, where the great branches
  were swaying about like twigs, and the rushing sound was terrible.
  
  “I wish we were well out of this wood,” said my master.
  
  “Yes, sir,” said John, “it would be rather awkward if one of these
  branches came down upon us.”
  
  The words were scarcely out of his mouth when there was a groan, and a
  crack, and a splitting sound, and tearing, crashing down among the other
  trees came an oak, torn up by the roots, and it fell right across the
  road just before us. I will never say I was not frightened, for I was. I
  stopped still, and I believe I trembled; of course I did not turn round
  or run away; I was not brought up to that. John jumped out and was in a
  moment at my head.
  
  “That was a very near touch,” said my master. “What’s to be done now?”
  
  “Well, sir, we can’t drive over that tree, nor yet get round it; there
  will be nothing for it, but to go back to the four crossways, and that
  will be a good six miles before we get round to the wooden bridge again;
  it will make us late, but the horse is fresh.”
  
  So back we went and round by the crossroads, but by the time we got to
  the bridge it was very nearly dark; we could just see that the water was
  over the middle of it; but as that happened sometimes when the floods
  were out, master did not stop. We were going along at a good pace, but
  the moment my feet touched the first part of the bridge I felt sure
  there was something wrong. I dare not go forward, and I made a dead
  stop. “Go on, Beauty,” said my master, and he gave me a touch with the
  whip, but I dare not stir; he gave me a sharp cut; I jumped, but I dare
  not go forward.
  
  “There’s something wrong, sir,” said John, and he sprang out of the
  dog-cart and came to my head and looked all about. He tried to lead me
  forward. “Come on, Beauty, what’s the matter?” Of course I could not
  tell him, but I knew very well that the bridge was not safe.
  
  Just then the man at the toll-gate on the other side ran out of the
  house, tossing a torch about like one mad.
  
  “Hoy, hoy, hoy! halloo! stop!” he cried.
  
  “What’s the matter?” shouted my master.
  
  “The bridge is broken in the middle, and part of it is carried away; if
  you come on you’ll be into the river.”
  
  “Thank God!” said my master. “You Beauty!” said John, and took the
  bridle and gently turned me round to the right-hand road by the river
  side. The sun had set some time; the wind seemed to have lulled off
  after that furious blast which tore up the tree. It grew darker and
  darker, stiller and stiller. I trotted quietly along, the wheels hardly
  making a sound on the soft road. For a good while neither master nor
  John spoke, and then master began in a serious voice. I could not
  understand much of what they said, but I found they thought, if I had
  gone on as the master wanted me, most likely the bridge would have given
  way under us, and horse, chaise, master, and man would have fallen into
  the river; and as the current was flowing very strongly, and there was
  no light and no help at hand, it was more than likely we should all have
  been drowned. Master said, God had given men reason, by which they could
  find out things for themselves; but he had given animals knowledge which
  did not depend on reason, and which was much more prompt and perfect in
  its way, and by which they had often saved the lives of men. John had
  many stories to tell of dogs and horses, and the wonderful things they
  had done; he thought people did not value their animals half enough nor
  make friends of them as they ought to do. I am sure he makes friends of
  them if ever a man did.
  
  At last we came to the park gates and found the gardener looking out for
  us. He said that mistress had been in a dreadful way ever since dark,
  fearing some accident had happened, and that she had sent James off on
  Justice, the roan cob, toward the wooden bridge to make inquiry after
  us.
  
  We saw a light at the hall-door and at the upper windows, and as we came
  up mistress ran out, saying, “Are you really safe, my dear? Oh! I
  have been so anxious, fancying all sorts of things. Have you had no
  accident?”
  
  “No, my dear; but if your Black Beauty had not been wiser than we were
  we should all have been carried down the river at the wooden bridge.”
   I heard no more, as they went into the house, and John took me to the
  stable. Oh, what a good supper he gave me that night, a good bran mash
  and some crushed beans with my oats, and such a thick bed of straw! and
  I was glad of it, for I was tired.
  
  
  
  
  13 The Devil’s Trade Mark
  
  
  One day when John and I had been out on some business of our master’s,
  and were returning gently on a long, straight road, at some distance we
  saw a boy trying to leap a pony over a gate; the pony would not take the
  leap, and the boy cut him with the whip, but he only turned off on one
  side. He whipped him again, but the pony turned off on the other side.
  Then the boy got off and gave him a hard thrashing, and knocked him
  about the head; then he got up again and tried to make him leap the
  gate, kicking him all the time shamefully, but still the pony refused.
  When we were nearly at the spot the pony put down his head and threw up
  his heels, and sent the boy neatly over into a broad quickset hedge, and
  with the rein dangling from his head he set off home at a full gallop.
  John laughed out quite loud. “Served him right,” he said.
  
  “Oh, oh, oh!” cried the boy as he struggled about among the thorns; “I
  say, come and help me out.”
  
  “Thank ye,” said John, “I think you are quite in the right place, and
  maybe a little scratching will teach you not to leap a pony over a gate
  that is too high for him,” and so with that John rode off. “It may be,”
   said he to himself, “that young fellow is a liar as well as a cruel one;
  we’ll just go home by Farmer Bushby’s, Beauty, and then if anybody wants
  to know you and I can tell ‘em, ye see.” So we turned off to the right,
  and soon came up to the stack-yard, and within sight of the house. The
  farmer was hurrying out into the road, and his wife was standing at the
  gate, looking very frightened.
  
  “Have you seen my boy?” said Mr. Bushby as we came up; “he went out an
  hour ago on my black pony, and the creature is just come back without a
  rider.”
  
  “I should think, sir,” said John, “he had better be without a rider,
  unless he can be ridden properly.”
  
  “What do you mean?” said the farmer.
  
  “Well, sir, I saw your son whipping, and kicking, and knocking that good
  little pony about shamefully because he would not leap a gate that was
  too high for him. The pony behaved well, sir, and showed no vice; but at
  last he just threw up his heels and tipped the young gentleman into the
  thorn hedge. He wanted me to help him out, but I hope you will excuse
  me, sir, I did not feel inclined to do so. There’s no bones broken, sir;
  he’ll only get a few scratches. I love horses, and it riles me to see
  them badly used; it is a bad plan to aggravate an animal till he uses
  his heels; the first time is not always the last.”
  
  During this time the mother began to cry, “Oh, my poor Bill, I must go
  and meet him; he must be hurt.”
  
  “You had better go into the house, wife,” said the farmer; “Bill wants a
  lesson about this, and I must see that he gets it; this is not the first
  time, nor the second, that he has ill-used that pony, and I shall stop
  it. I am much obliged to you, Manly. Good-evening.”
  
  So we went on, John chuckling all the way home; then he told James about
  it, who laughed and said, “Serve him right. I knew that boy at school;
  he took great airs on himself because he was a farmer’s son; he used to
  swagger about and bully the little boys. Of course, we elder ones would
  not have any of that nonsense, and let him know that in the school and
  the playground farmers’ sons and laborers’ sons were all alike. I well
  remember one day, just before afternoon school, I found him at the large
  window catching flies and pulling off their wings. He did not see me and
  I gave him a box on the ears that laid him sprawling on the floor. Well,
  angry as I was, I was almost frightened, he roared and bellowed in such
  a style. The boys rushed in from the playground, and the master ran in
  from the road to see who was being murdered. Of course I said fair and
  square at once what I had done, and why; then I showed the master the
  flies, some crushed and some crawling about helpless, and I showed him
  the wings on the window sill. I never saw him so angry before; but as
  Bill was still howling and whining, like the coward that he was, he did
  not give him any more punishment of that kind, but set him up on a stool
  for the rest of the afternoon, and said that he should not go out to
  play for that week. Then he talked to all the boys very seriously about
  cruelty, and said how hard-hearted and cowardly it was to hurt the
  weak and the helpless; but what stuck in my mind was this, he said that
  cruelty was the devil’s own trade-mark, and if we saw any one who took
  pleasure in cruelty we might know who he belonged to, for the devil was
  a murderer from the beginning, and a tormentor to the end. On the other
  hand, where we saw people who loved their neighbors, and were kind to
  man and beast, we might know that was God’s mark.”
  
  “Your master never taught you a truer thing,” said John; “there is no
  religion without love, and people may talk as much as they like about
  their religion, but if it does not teach them to be good and kind to man
  and beast it is all a sham--all a sham, James, and it won’t stand when
  things come to be turned inside out.”
  
  
  
  
  14 James Howard
  
  
  Early one morning in December John had just led me into my box after my
  daily exercise, and was strapping my cloth on and James was coming in
  from the corn chamber with some oats, when the master came into the
  stable. He looked rather serious, and held an open letter in his hand.
  John fastened the door of my box, touched his cap, and waited for
  orders.
  
  “Good-morning, John,” said the master. “I want to know if you have any
  complaint to make of James.”
  
  “Complaint, sir? No, sir.”
  
  “Is he industrious at his work and respectful to you?”
  
  “Yes, sir, always.”
  
  “You never find he slights his work when your back is turned?”
  
  “Never, sir.”
  
  “That’s well; but I must put another question. Have you no reason to
  suspect, when he goes out with the horses to exercise them or to take a
  message, that he stops about talking to his acquaintances, or goes into
  houses where he has no business, leaving the horses outside?”
  
  “No, sir, certainly not; and if anybody has been saying that about
  James, I don’t believe it, and I don’t mean to believe it unless I have
  it fairly proved before witnesses; it’s not for me to say who has been
  trying to take away James’ character, but I will say this, sir, that a
  steadier, pleasanter, honester, smarter young fellow I never had in this
  stable. I can trust his word and I can trust his work; he is gentle and
  clever with the horses, and I would rather have them in charge with him
  than with half the young fellows I know of in laced hats and liveries;
  and whoever wants a character of James Howard,” said John, with a
  decided jerk of his head, “let them come to John Manly.”
  
  The master stood all this time grave and attentive, but as John finished
  his speech a broad smile spread over his face, and looking kindly
  across at James, who all this time had stood still at the door, he said,
  “James, my lad, set down the oats and come here; I am very glad to find
  that John’s opinion of your character agrees so exactly with my own.
  John is a cautious man,” he said, with a droll smile, “and it is not
  always easy to get his opinion about people, so I thought if I beat the
  bush on this side the birds would fly out, and I should learn what I
  wanted to know quickly; so now we will come to business. I have a letter
  from my brother-in-law, Sir Clifford Williams, of Clifford Hall.
  He wants me to find him a trustworthy young groom, about twenty or
  twenty-one, who knows his business. His old coachman, who has lived with
  him thirty years, is getting feeble, and he wants a man to work with him
  and get into his ways, who would be able, when the old man was pensioned
  off, to step into his place. He would have eighteen shillings a week at
  first, a stable suit, a driving suit, a bedroom over the coachhouse, and
  a boy under him. Sir Clifford is a good master, and if you could get the
  place it would be a good start for you. I don’t want to part with you,
  and if you left us I know John would lose his right hand.”
  
  “That I should, sir,” said John, “but I would not stand in his light for
  the world.”
  
  “How old are you, James?” said master.
  
  “Nineteen next May, sir.”
  
  “That’s young; what do you think, John?”
  
  “Well, sir, it is young; but he is as steady as a man, and is strong,
  and well grown, and though he has not had much experience in driving, he
  has a light firm hand and a quick eye, and he is very careful, and I am
  quite sure no horse of his will be ruined for want of having his feet
  and shoes looked after.”
  
  “Your word will go the furthest, John,” said the master, “for Sir
  Clifford adds in a postscript, ‘If I could find a man trained by your
  John I should like him better than any other;’ so, James, lad, think it
  over, talk to your mother at dinner-time, and then let me know what you
  wish.”
  
  In a few days after this conversation it was fully settled that James
  should go to Clifford Hall, in a month or six weeks, as it suited his
  master, and in the meantime he was to get all the practice in driving
  that could be given to him. I never knew the carriage to go out so often
  before; when the mistress did not go out the master drove himself in the
  two-wheeled chaise; but now, whether it was master or the young ladies,
  or only an errand, Ginger and I were put in the carriage and James drove
  us. At the first John rode with him on the box, telling him this and
  that, and after that James drove alone.
  
  Then it was wonderful what a number of places the master would go to in
  the city on Saturday, and what queer streets we were driven through. He
  was sure to go to the railway station just as the train was coming in,
  and cabs and carriages, carts and omnibuses were all trying to get over
  the bridge together; that bridge wanted good horses and good drivers
  when the railway bell was ringing, for it was narrow, and there was a
  very sharp turn up to the station, where it would not have been at all
  difficult for people to run into each other, if they did not look sharp
  and keep their wits about them.
  
  
  
  
  15 The Old Hostler
  
  
  After this it was decided by my master and mistress to pay a visit to
  some friends who lived about forty-six miles from our home, and James
  was to drive them. The first day we traveled thirty-two miles.
  There were some long, heavy hills, but James drove so carefully and
  thoughtfully that we were not at all harassed. He never forgot to put on
  the brake as we went downhill, nor to take it off at the right place. He
  kept our feet on the smoothest part of the road, and if the uphill was
  very long, he set the carriage wheels a little across the road, so as
  not to run back, and gave us a breathing. All these little things help a
  horse very much, particularly if he gets kind words into the bargain.
  
  We stopped once or twice on the road, and just as the sun was going down
  we reached the town where we were to spend the night. We stopped at the
  principal hotel, which was in the market-place; it was a very large one;
  we drove under an archway into a long yard, at the further end of which
  were the stables and coachhouses. Two hostlers came to take us out. The
  head hostler was a pleasant, active little man, with a crooked leg,
  and a yellow striped waistcoat. I never saw a man unbuckle harness so
  quickly as he did, and with a pat and a good word he led me to a long
  stable, with six or eight stalls in it, and two or three horses. The
  other man brought Ginger; James stood by while we were rubbed down and
  cleaned.
  
  I never was cleaned so lightly and quickly as by that little old man.
  When he had done James stepped up and felt me over, as if he thought I
  could not be thoroughly done, but he found my coat as clean and smooth
  as silk.
  
  “Well,” he said, “I thought I was pretty quick, and our John quicker
  still, but you do beat all I ever saw for being quick and thorough at
  the same time.”
  
  “Practice makes perfect,” said the crooked little hostler, “and ‘twould
  be a pity if it didn’t; forty years’ practice, and not perfect! ha, ha!
  that would be a pity; and as to being quick, why, bless you! that is
  only a matter of habit; if you get into the habit of being quick it is
  just as easy as being slow; easier, I should say; in fact it don’t agree
  with my health to be hulking about over a job twice as long as it need
  take. Bless you! I couldn’t whistle if I crawled over my work as some
  folks do! You see, I have been about horses ever since I was twelve
  years old, in hunting stables, and racing stables; and being small, ye
  see, I was jockey for several years; but at the Goodwood, ye see, the
  turf was very slippery and my poor Larkspur got a fall, and I broke my
  knee, and so of course I was of no more use there. But I could not live
  without horses, of course I couldn’t, so I took to the hotels. And I
  can tell ye it is a downright pleasure to handle an animal like this,
  well-bred, well-mannered, well-cared-for; bless ye! I can tell how a
  horse is treated. Give me the handling of a horse for twenty minutes,
  and I’ll tell you what sort of a groom he has had. Look at this one,
  pleasant, quiet, turns about just as you want him, holds up his feet to
  be cleaned out, or anything else you please to wish; then you’ll find
  another fidgety, fretty, won’t move the right way, or starts across the
  stall, tosses up his head as soon as you come near him, lays his ears,
  and seems afraid of you; or else squares about at you with his heels.
  Poor things! I know what sort of treatment they have had. If they are
  timid it makes them start or shy; if they are high-mettled it makes them
  vicious or dangerous; their tempers are mostly made when they are young.
  Bless you! they are like children, train ‘em up in the way they should
  go, as the good book says, and when they are old they will not depart
  from it, if they have a chance.”
  
  “I like to hear you talk,” said James, “that’s the way we lay it down at
  home, at our master’s.”
  
  “Who is your master, young man? if it be a proper question. I should
  judge he is a good one, from what I see.”
  
  “He is Squire Gordon, of Birtwick Park, the other side the Beacon
  Hills,” said James.
  
  “Ah! so, so, I have heard tell of him; fine judge of horses, ain’t he?
  the best rider in the county.”
  
  “I believe he is,” said James, “but he rides very little now, since the
  poor young master was killed.”
  
  “Ah! poor gentleman; I read all about it in the paper at the time. A
  fine horse killed, too, wasn’t there?”
  
  “Yes,” said James; “he was a splendid creature, brother to this one, and
  just like him.”
  
  “Pity! pity!” said the old man; “‘twas a bad place to leap, if I
  remember; a thin fence at top, a steep bank down to the stream, wasn’t
  it? No chance for a horse to see where he is going. Now, I am for bold
  riding as much as any man, but still there are some leaps that only
  a very knowing old huntsman has any right to take. A man’s life and a
  horse’s life are worth more than a fox’s tail; at least, I should say
  they ought to be.”
  
  During this time the other man had finished Ginger and had brought our
  corn, and James and the old man left the stable together.
  
  
  
  
  16 The Fire
  
  
  Later on in the evening a traveler’s horse was brought in by the second
  hostler, and while he was cleaning him a young man with a pipe in his
  mouth lounged into the stable to gossip.
  
  “I say, Towler,” said the hostler, “just run up the ladder into the loft
  and put some hay down into this horse’s rack, will you? only lay down
  your pipe.”
  
  “All right,” said the other, and went up through the trapdoor; and I
  heard him step across the floor overhead and put down the hay. James
  came in to look at us the last thing, and then the door was locked.
  
  I cannot say how long I had slept, nor what time in the night it was,
  but I woke up very uncomfortable, though I hardly knew why. I got up;
  the air seemed all thick and choking. I heard Ginger coughing and one
  of the other horses seemed very restless; it was quite dark, and I could
  see nothing, but the stable seemed full of smoke, and I hardly knew how
  to breathe.
  
  The trapdoor had been left open, and I thought that was the place it
  came through. I listened, and heard a soft rushing sort of noise and a
  low crackling and snapping. I did not know what it was, but there was
  something in the sound so strange that it made me tremble all over. The
  other horses were all awake; some were pulling at their halters, others
  stamping.
  
  At last I heard steps outside, and the hostler who had put up the
  traveler’s horse burst into the stable with a lantern, and began to
  untie the horses, and try to lead them out; but he seemed in such a
  hurry and so frightened himself that he frightened me still more. The
  first horse would not go with him; he tried the second and third, and
  they too would not stir. He came to me next and tried to drag me out of
  the stall by force; of course that was no use. He tried us all by turns
  and then left the stable.
  
  No doubt we were very foolish, but danger seemed to be all round, and
  there was nobody we knew to trust in, and all was strange and uncertain.
  The fresh air that had come in through the open door made it easier to
  breathe, but the rushing sound overhead grew louder, and as I looked
  upward through the bars of my empty rack I saw a red light flickering
  on the wall. Then I heard a cry of “Fire!” outside, and the old hostler
  quietly and quickly came in; he got one horse out, and went to another,
  but the flames were playing round the trapdoor, and the roaring overhead
  was dreadful.
  
  The next thing I heard was James’ voice, quiet and cheery, as it always
  was.
  
  “Come, my beauties, it is time for us to be off, so wake up and come
  along.” I stood nearest the door, so he came to me first, patting me as
  he came in.
  
  “Come, Beauty, on with your bridle, my boy, we’ll soon be out of this
  smother.” It was on in no time; then he took the scarf off his neck, and
  tied it lightly over my eyes, and patting and coaxing he led me out
  of the stable. Safe in the yard, he slipped the scarf off my eyes, and
  shouted, “Here somebody! take this horse while I go back for the other.”
  
  A tall, broad man stepped forward and took me, and James darted back
  into the stable. I set up a shrill whinny as I saw him go. Ginger told
  me afterward that whinny was the best thing I could have done for her,
  for had she not heard me outside she would never have had courage to
  come out.
  
  There was much confusion in the yard; the horses being got out of other
  stables, and the carriages and gigs being pulled out of houses and
  sheds, lest the flames should spread further. On the other side the yard
  windows were thrown up, and people were shouting all sorts of things;
  but I kept my eye fixed on the stable door, where the smoke poured out
  thicker than ever, and I could see flashes of red light; presently I
  heard above all the stir and din a loud, clear voice, which I knew was
  master’s:
  
  “James Howard! James Howard! Are you there?” There was no answer, but I
  heard a crash of something falling in the stable, and the next moment
  I gave a loud, joyful neigh, for I saw James coming through the smoke
  leading Ginger with him; she was coughing violently, and he was not able
  to speak.
  
  “My brave lad!” said master, laying his hand on his shoulder, “are you
  hurt?”
  
  James shook his head, for he could not yet speak.
  
  “Ay,” said the big man who held me; “he is a brave lad, and no mistake.”
  
  “And now,” said master, “when you have got your breath, James, we’ll get
  out of this place as quickly as we can,” and we were moving toward the
  entry, when from the market-place there came a sound of galloping feet
  and loud rumbling wheels.
  
  “‘Tis the fire-engine! the fire-engine!” shouted two or three voices,
  “stand back, make way!” and clattering and thundering over the stones
  two horses dashed into the yard with a heavy engine behind them. The
  firemen leaped to the ground; there was no need to ask where the fire
  was--it was rolling up in a great blaze from the roof.
  
  We got out as fast as we could into the broad quiet market-place; the
  stars were shining, and except the noise behind us, all was still.
  Master led the way to a large hotel on the other side, and as soon as
  the hostler came, he said, “James, I must now hasten to your mistress;
  I trust the horses entirely to you, order whatever you think is needed,”
   and with that he was gone. The master did not run, but I never saw
  mortal man walk so fast as he did that night.
  
  There was a dreadful sound before we got into our stalls--the shrieks of
  those poor horses that were left burning to death in the stable--it was
  very terrible! and made both Ginger and me feel very bad. We, however,
  were taken in and well done by.
  
  The next morning the master came to see how we were and to speak to
  James. I did not hear much, for the hostler was rubbing me down, but
  I could see that James looked very happy, and I thought the master was
  proud of him. Our mistress had been so much alarmed in the night that
  the journey was put off till the afternoon, so James had the morning
  on hand, and went first to the inn to see about our harness and the
  carriage, and then to hear more about the fire. When he came back we
  heard him tell the hostler about it. At first no one could guess how the
  fire had been caused, but at last a man said he saw Dick Towler go into
  the stable with a pipe in his mouth, and when he came out he had not
  one, and went to the tap for another. Then the under hostler said he had
  asked Dick to go up the ladder to put down some hay, but told him to lay
  down his pipe first. Dick denied taking the pipe with him, but no one
  believed him. I remember our John Manly’s rule, never to allow a pipe in
  the stable, and thought it ought to be the rule everywhere.
  
  James said the roof and floor had all fallen in, and that only the black
  walls were standing; the two poor horses that could not be got out were
  buried under the burnt rafters and tiles.
  
  
  
  
  17 John Manly’s Talk
  
  
  The rest of our journey was very easy, and a little after sunset we
  reached the house of my master’s friend. We were taken into a clean,
  snug stable; there was a kind coachman, who made us very comfortable,
  and who seemed to think a good deal of James when he heard about the
  fire.
  
  “There is one thing quite clear, young man,” he said, “your horses know
  who they can trust; it is one of the hardest things in the world to get
  horses out of a stable when there is either fire or flood. I don’t know
  why they won’t come out, but they won’t--not one in twenty.”
  
  We stopped two or three days at this place and then returned home. All
  went well on the journey; we were glad to be in our own stable again,
  and John was equally glad to see us.
  
  Before he and James left us for the night James said, “I wonder who is
  coming in my place.”
  
  “Little Joe Green at the lodge,” said John.
  
  “Little Joe Green! why, he’s a child!”
  
  “He is fourteen and a half,” said John.
  
  “But he is such a little chap!”
  
  “Yes, he is small, but he is quick and willing, and kind-hearted, too,
  and then he wishes very much to come, and his father would like it;
  and I know the master would like to give him the chance. He said if I
  thought he would not do he would look out for a bigger boy; but I said I
  was quite agreeable to try him for six weeks.”
  
  “Six weeks!” said James; “why, it will be six months before he can be of
  much use! It will make you a deal of work, John.”
  
  “Well,” said John with a laugh, “work and I are very good friends; I
  never was afraid of work yet.”
  
  “You are a very good man,” said James. “I wish I may ever be like you.”
  
  “I don’t often speak of myself,” said John, “but as you are going away
  from us out into the world to shift for yourself I’ll just tell you how
  I look on these things. I was just as old as Joseph when my father and
  mother died of the fever within ten days of each other, and left me and
  my cripple sister Nelly alone in the world, without a relation that we
  could look to for help. I was a farmer’s boy, not earning enough to keep
  myself, much less both of us, and she must have gone to the workhouse
  but for our mistress (Nelly calls her her angel, and she has good right
  to do so). She went and hired a room for her with old Widow Mallet, and
  she gave her knitting and needlework when she was able to do it; and
  when she was ill she sent her dinners and many nice, comfortable things,
  and was like a mother to her. Then the master he took me into the stable
  under old Norman, the coachman that was then. I had my food at the house
  and my bed in the loft, and a suit of clothes, and three shillings a
  week, so that I could help Nelly. Then there was Norman; he might have
  turned round and said at his age he could not be troubled with a raw boy
  from the plow-tail, but he was like a father to me, and took no end of
  pains with me. When the old man died some years after I stepped into his
  place, and now of course I have top wages, and can lay by for a rainy
  day or a sunny day, as it may happen, and Nelly is as happy as a bird.
  So you see, James, I am not the man that should turn up his nose at a
  little boy and vex a good, kind master. No, no! I shall miss you very
  much, James, but we shall pull through, and there’s nothing like doing a
  kindness when ‘tis put in your way, and I am glad I can do it.”
  
  “Then,” said James, “you don’t hold with that saying, ‘Everybody look
  after himself, and take care of number one’?”
  
  “No, indeed,” said John, “where should I and Nelly have been if master
  and mistress and old Norman had only taken care of number one? Why,
  she in the workhouse and I hoeing turnips! Where would Black Beauty and
  Ginger have been if you had only thought of number one? why, roasted to
  death! No, Jim, no! that is a selfish, heathenish saying, whoever uses
  it; and any man who thinks he has nothing to do but take care of number
  one, why, it’s a pity but what he had been drowned like a puppy or a
  kitten, before he got his eyes open; that’s what I think,” said John,
  with a very decided jerk of his head.
  
  James laughed at this; but there was a thickness in his voice when he
  said, “You have been my best friend except my mother; I hope you won’t
  forget me.”
  
  “No, lad, no!” said John, “and if ever I can do you a good turn I hope
  you won’t forget me.”
  
  The next day Joe came to the stables to learn all he could before James
  left. He learned to sweep the stable, to bring in the straw and hay; he
  began to clean the harness, and helped to wash the carriage. As he was
  quite too short to do anything in the way of grooming Ginger and me,
  James taught him upon Merrylegs, for he was to have full charge of
  him, under John. He was a nice little bright fellow, and always came
  whistling to his work.
  
  Merrylegs was a good deal put out at being “mauled about,” as he said,
  “by a boy who knew nothing;” but toward the end of the second week he
  told me confidentially that he thought the boy would turn out well.
  
  At last the day came when James had to leave us; cheerful as he always
  was, he looked quite down-hearted that morning.
  
  “You see,” he said to John, “I am leaving a great deal behind; my mother
  and Betsy, and you, and a good master and mistress, and then the horses,
  and my old Merrylegs. At the new place there will not be a soul that I
  shall know. If it were not that I shall get a higher place, and be able
  to help my mother better, I don’t think I should have made up my mind to
  it; it is a real pinch, John.”
  
  “Ay, James, lad, so it is; but I should not think much of you if you
  could leave your home for the first time and not feel it. Cheer up,
  you’ll make friends there; and if you get on well, as I am sure you
  will, it will be a fine thing for your mother, and she will be proud
  enough that you have got into such a good place as that.”
  
  So John cheered him up, but every one was sorry to lose James; as for
  Merrylegs, he pined after him for several days, and went quite off his
  appetite. So John took him out several mornings with a leading rein,
  when he exercised me, and, trotting and galloping by my side, got up the
  little fellow’s spirits again, and he was soon all right.
  
  Joe’s father would often come in and give a little help, as he
  understood the work; and Joe took a great deal of pains to learn, and
  John was quite encouraged about him.
  
  
  
  
  18 Going for the Doctor
  
  
  One night, a few days after James had left, I had eaten my hay and was
  lying down in my straw fast asleep, when I was suddenly roused by the
  stable bell ringing very loud. I heard the door of John’s house open,
  and his feet running up to the hall. He was back again in no time; he
  unlocked the stable door, and came in, calling out, “Wake up, Beauty!
  You must go well now, if ever you did;” and almost before I could think
  he had got the saddle on my back and the bridle on my head. He just
  ran round for his coat, and then took me at a quick trot up to the hall
  door. The squire stood there, with a lamp in his hand.
  
  “Now, John,” he said, “ride for your life--that is, for your mistress’
  life; there is not a moment to lose. Give this note to Dr. White; give
  your horse a rest at the inn, and be back as soon as you can.”
  
  John said, “Yes, sir,” and was on my back in a minute. The gardener who
  lived at the lodge had heard the bell ring, and was ready with the gate
  open, and away we went through the park, and through the village, and
  down the hill till we came to the toll-gate. John called very loud and
  thumped upon the door; the man was soon out and flung open the gate.
  
  “Now,” said John, “do you keep the gate open for the doctor; here’s the
  money,” and off he went again.
  
  There was before us a long piece of level road by the river side; John
  said to me, “Now, Beauty, do your best,” and so I did; I wanted no whip
  nor spur, and for two miles I galloped as fast as I could lay my feet to
  the ground; I don’t believe that my old grandfather, who won the race
  at Newmarket, could have gone faster. When we came to the bridge John
  pulled me up a little and patted my neck. “Well done, Beauty! good old
  fellow,” he said. He would have let me go slower, but my spirit was up,
  and I was off again as fast as before. The air was frosty, the moon was
  bright; it was very pleasant. We came through a village, then through
  a dark wood, then uphill, then downhill, till after eight miles’ run we
  came to the town, through the streets and into the market-place. It was
  all quite still except the clatter of my feet on the stones--everybody
  was asleep. The church clock struck three as we drew up at Dr. White’s
  door. John rang the bell twice, and then knocked at the door like
  thunder. A window was thrown up, and Dr. White, in his nightcap, put his
  head out and said, “What do you want?”
  
  “Mrs. Gordon is very ill, sir; master wants you to go at once; he thinks
  she will die if you cannot get there. Here is a note.”
  
  “Wait,” he said, “I will come.”
  
  He shut the window, and was soon at the door.
  
  “The worst of it is,” he said, “that my horse has been out all day and
  is quite done up; my son has just been sent for, and he has taken the
  other. What is to be done? Can I have your horse?”
  
  “He has come at a gallop nearly all the way, sir, and I was to give him
  a rest here; but I think my master would not be against it, if you think
  fit, sir.”
  
  “All right,” he said; “I will soon be ready.”
  
  John stood by me and stroked my neck; I was very hot. The doctor came
  out with his riding-whip.
  
  “You need not take that, sir,” said John; “Black Beauty will go till he
  drops. Take care of him, sir, if you can; I should not like any harm to
  come to him.”
  
  “No, no, John,” said the doctor, “I hope not,” and in a minute we had
  left John far behind.
  
  I will not tell about our way back. The doctor was a heavier man than
  John, and not so good a rider; however, I did my very best. The man at
  the toll-gate had it open. When we came to the hill the doctor drew me
  up. “Now, my good fellow,” he said, “take some breath.” I was glad he
  did, for I was nearly spent, but that breathing helped me on, and soon
  we were in the park. Joe was at the lodge gate; my master was at the
  hall door, for he had heard us coming. He spoke not a word; the doctor
  went into the house with him, and Joe led me to the stable. I was glad
  to get home; my legs shook under me, and I could only stand and pant. I
  had not a dry hair on my body, the water ran down my legs, and I steamed
  all over, Joe used to say, like a pot on the fire. Poor Joe! he was
  young and small, and as yet he knew very little, and his father, who
  would have helped him, had been sent to the next village; but I am sure
  he did the very best he knew. He rubbed my legs and my chest, but he did
  not put my warm cloth on me; he thought I was so hot I should not like
  it. Then he gave me a pailful of water to drink; it was cold and very
  good, and I drank it all; then he gave me some hay and some corn, and
  thinking he had done right, he went away. Soon I began to shake and
  tremble, and turned deadly cold; my legs ached, my loins ached, and my
  chest ached, and I felt sore all over. Oh! how I wished for my warm,
  thick cloth, as I stood and trembled. I wished for John, but he had
  eight miles to walk, so I lay down in my straw and tried to go to sleep.
  After a long while I heard John at the door; I gave a low moan, for I
  was in great pain. He was at my side in a moment, stooping down by me. I
  could not tell him how I felt, but he seemed to know it all; he covered
  me up with two or three warm cloths, and then ran to the house for some
  hot water; he made me some warm gruel, which I drank, and then I think I
  went to sleep.
  
  John seemed to be very much put out. I heard him say to himself over and
  over again, “Stupid boy! stupid boy! no cloth put on, and I dare say the
  water was cold, too; boys are no good;” but Joe was a good boy, after
  all.
  
  I was now very ill; a strong inflammation had attacked my lungs, and I
  could not draw my breath without pain. John nursed me night and day; he
  would get up two or three times in the night to come to me. My master,
  too, often came to see me. “My poor Beauty,” he said one day, “my good
  horse, you saved your mistress’ life, Beauty; yes, you saved her life.”
   I was very glad to hear that, for it seems the doctor had said if we had
  been a little longer it would have been too late. John told my master he
  never saw a horse go so fast in his life. It seemed as if the horse knew
  what was the matter. Of course I did, though John thought not; at least
  I knew as much as this--that John and I must go at the top of our speed,
  and that it was for the sake of the mistress.
  
  
  
  
  19 Only Ignorance
  
  
  I do not know how long I was ill. Mr. Bond, the horse-doctor, came every
  day. One day he bled me; John held a pail for the blood. I felt very
  faint after it and thought I should die, and I believe they all thought
  so too.
  
  Ginger and Merrylegs had been moved into the other stable, so that I
  might be quiet, for the fever made me very quick of hearing; any little
  noise seemed quite loud, and I could tell every one’s footstep going to
  and from the house. I knew all that was going on. One night John had to
  give me a draught; Thomas Green came in to help him. After I had taken
  it and John had made me as comfortable as he could, he said he should
  stay half an hour to see how the medicine settled. Thomas said he
  would stay with him, so they went and sat down on a bench that had been
  brought into Merrylegs’ stall, and put down the lantern at their feet,
  that I might not be disturbed with the light.
  
  For awhile both men sat silent, and then Tom Green said in a low voice:
  
  “I wish, John, you’d say a bit of a kind word to Joe. The boy is quite
  broken-hearted; he can’t eat his meals, and he can’t smile. He says he
  knows it was all his fault, though he is sure he did the best he knew,
  and he says if Beauty dies no one will ever speak to him again. It goes
  to my heart to hear him. I think you might give him just a word; he is
  not a bad boy.”
  
  After a short pause John said slowly, “You must not be too hard upon me,
  Tom. I know he meant no harm, I never said he did; I know he is not a
  bad boy. But you see, I am sore myself; that horse is the pride of my
  heart, to say nothing of his being such a favorite with the master and
  mistress; and to think that his life may be flung away in this manner is
  more than I can bear. But if you think I am hard on the boy I will try
  to give him a good word to-morrow--that is, I mean if Beauty is better.”
  
  “Well, John, thank you. I knew you did not wish to be too hard, and I am
  glad you see it was only ignorance.”
  
  John’s voice almost startled me as he answered:
  
  “Only ignorance! only ignorance! how can you talk about only ignorance?
  Don’t you know that it is the worst thing in the world, next to
  wickedness?--and which does the most mischief heaven only knows. If
  people can say, ‘Oh! I did not know, I did not mean any harm,’ they
  think it is all right. I suppose Martha Mulwash did not mean to kill
  that baby when she dosed it with Dalby and soothing syrups; but she did
  kill it, and was tried for manslaughter.”
  
  “And serve her right, too,” said Tom. “A woman should not undertake to
  nurse a tender little child without knowing what is good and what is bad
  for it.”
  
  “Bill Starkey,” continued John, “did not mean to frighten his brother
  into fits when he dressed up like a ghost and ran after him in the
  moonlight; but he did; and that bright, handsome little fellow, that
  might have been the pride of any mother’s heart is just no better than
  an idiot, and never will be, if he lives to be eighty years old. You
  were a good deal cut up yourself, Tom, two weeks ago, when those young
  ladies left your hothouse door open, with a frosty east wind blowing
  right in; you said it killed a good many of your plants.”
  
  “A good many!” said Tom; “there was not one of the tender cuttings that
  was not nipped off. I shall have to strike all over again, and the worst
  of it is that I don’t know where to go to get fresh ones. I was nearly
  mad when I came in and saw what was done.”
  
  “And yet,” said John, “I am sure the young ladies did not mean it; it
  was only ignorance.”
  
  I heard no more of this conversation, for the medicine did well and sent
  me to sleep, and in the morning I felt much better; but I often thought
  of John’s words when I came to know more of the world.
  
  
  
  
  20 Joe Green
  
  
  Joe Green went on very well; he learned quickly, and was so attentive
  and careful that John began to trust him in many things; but as I have
  said, he was small of his age, and it was seldom that he was allowed to
  exercise either Ginger or me; but it so happened one morning that John
  was out with Justice in the luggage cart, and the master wanted a
  note to be taken immediately to a gentleman’s house, about three miles
  distant, and sent his orders for Joe to saddle me and take it, adding
  the caution that he was to ride steadily.
  
  The note was delivered, and we were quietly returning when we came
  to the brick-field. Here we saw a cart heavily laden with bricks; the
  wheels had stuck fast in the stiff mud of some deep ruts, and the carter
  was shouting and flogging the two horses unmercifully. Joe pulled up. It
  was a sad sight. There were the two horses straining and struggling with
  all their might to drag the cart out, but they could not move it; the
  sweat streamed from their legs and flanks, their sides heaved, and every
  muscle was strained, while the man, fiercely pulling at the head of the
  fore horse, swore and lashed most brutally.
  
  “Hold hard,” said Joe; “don’t go on flogging the horses like that; the
  wheels are so stuck that they cannot move the cart.”
  
  The man took no heed, but went on lashing.
  
  “Stop! pray stop!” said Joe. “I’ll help you to lighten the cart; they
  can’t move it now.”
  
  “Mind your own business, you impudent young rascal, and I’ll mind mine!”
   The man was in a towering passion and the worse for drink, and laid on
  the whip again. Joe turned my head, and the next moment we were going at
  a round gallop toward the house of the master brick-maker. I cannot say
  if John would have approved of our pace, but Joe and I were both of one
  mind, and so angry that we could not have gone slower.
  
  The house stood close by the roadside. Joe knocked at the door, and
  shouted, “Halloo! Is Mr. Clay at home?” The door was opened, and Mr.
  Clay himself came out.
  
  “Halloo, young man! You seem in a hurry; any orders from the squire this
  morning?”
  
  “No, Mr. Clay, but there’s a fellow in your brick-yard flogging two
  horses to death. I told him to stop, and he wouldn’t; I said I’d help
  him to lighten the cart, and he wouldn’t; so I have come to tell you.
  Pray, sir, go.” Joe’s voice shook with excitement.
  
  “Thank ye, my lad,” said the man, running in for his hat; then pausing
  for a moment, “Will you give evidence of what you saw if I should bring
  the fellow up before a magistrate?”
  
  “That I will,” said Joe, “and glad too.” The man was gone, and we were
  on our way home at a smart trot.
  
  “Why, what’s the matter with you, Joe? You look angry all over,” said
  John, as the boy flung himself from the saddle.
  
  “I am angry all over, I can tell you,” said the boy, and then in
  hurried, excited words he told all that had happened. Joe was usually
  such a quiet, gentle little fellow that it was wonderful to see him so
  roused.
  
  “Right, Joe! you did right, my boy, whether the fellow gets a summons or
  not. Many folks would have ridden by and said it was not their
  business to interfere. Now I say that with cruelty and oppression it is
  everybody’s business to interfere when they see it; you did right, my
  boy.”
  
  Joe was quite calm by this time, and proud that John approved of him,
  and cleaned out my feet and rubbed me down with a firmer hand than
  usual.
  
  They were just going home to dinner when the footman came down to the
  stable to say that Joe was wanted directly in master’s private room;
  there was a man brought up for ill-using horses, and Joe’s evidence was
  wanted. The boy flushed up to his forehead, and his eyes sparkled. “They
  shall have it,” said he.
  
  “Put yourself a bit straight,” said John. Joe gave a pull at his necktie
  and a twitch at his jacket, and was off in a moment. Our master being
  one of the county magistrates, cases were often brought to him to
  settle, or say what should be done. In the stable we heard no more for
  some time, as it was the men’s dinner hour, but when Joe came next into
  the stable I saw he was in high spirits; he gave me a good-natured slap,
  and said, “We won’t see such things done, will we, old fellow?” We heard
  afterward that he had given his evidence so clearly, and the horses were
  in such an exhausted state, bearing marks of such brutal usage, that the
  carter was committed to take his trial, and might possibly be sentenced
  to two or three months in prison.
  
  It was wonderful what a change had come over Joe. John laughed, and said
  he had grown an inch taller in that week, and I believe he had. He
  was just as kind and gentle as before, but there was more purpose and
  determination in all that he did--as if he had jumped at once from a boy
  into a man.
  
  
  
  
  21 The Parting
  
  
  Now I had lived in this happy place three years, but sad changes were
  about to come over us. We heard from time to time that our mistress was
  ill. The doctor was often at the house, and the master looked grave and
  anxious. Then we heard that she must leave her home at once, and go to
  a warm country for two or three years. The news fell upon the household
  like the tolling of a deathbell. Everybody was sorry; but the master
  began directly to make arrangements for breaking up his establishment
  and leaving England. We used to hear it talked about in our stable;
  indeed, nothing else was talked about.
  
  John went about his work silent and sad, and Joe scarcely whistled.
  There was a great deal of coming and going; Ginger and I had full work.
  
  The first of the party who went were Miss Jessie and Flora, with their
  governess. They came to bid us good-by. They hugged poor Merrylegs
  like an old friend, and so indeed he was. Then we heard what had been
  arranged for us. Master had sold Ginger and me to his old friend,
  the Earl of W----, for he thought we should have a good place there.
  Merrylegs he had given to the vicar, who was wanting a pony for Mrs.
  Blomefield, but it was on the condition that he should never be sold,
  and that when he was past work he should be shot and buried.
  
  Joe was engaged to take care of him and to help in the house, so I
  thought that Merrylegs was well off. John had the offer of several good
  places, but he said he should wait a little and look round.
  
  The evening before they left the master came into the stable to give
  some directions, and to give his horses the last pat. He seemed very
  low-spirited; I knew that by his voice. I believe we horses can tell
  more by the voice than many men can.
  
  “Have you decided what to do, John?” he said. “I find you have not
  accepted either of those offers.”
  
  “No, sir; I have made up my mind that if I could get a situation with
  some first-rate colt-breaker and horse-trainer, it would be the right
  thing for me. Many young animals are frightened and spoiled by wrong
  treatment, which need not be if the right man took them in hand. I
  always get on well with horses, and if I could help some of them to a
  fair start I should feel as if I was doing some good. What do you think
  of it, sir?”
  
  “I don’t know a man anywhere,” said master, “that I should think so
  suitable for it as yourself. You understand horses, and somehow they
  understand you, and in time you might set up for yourself; I think you
  could not do better. If in any way I can help you, write to me. I shall
  speak to my agent in London, and leave your character with him.”
  
  Master gave John the name and address, and then he thanked him for his
  long and faithful service; but that was too much for John. “Pray, don’t,
  sir, I can’t bear it; you and my dear mistress have done so much for
  me that I could never repay it. But we shall never forget you, sir, and
  please God, we may some day see mistress back again like herself; we
  must keep up hope, sir.” Master gave John his hand, but he did not
  speak, and they both left the stable.
  
  The last sad day had come; the footman and the heavy luggage had gone
  off the day before, and there were only master and mistress and her
  maid. Ginger and I brought the carriage up to the hall door for the last
  time. The servants brought out cushions and rugs and many other things;
  and when all were arranged master came down the steps carrying the
  mistress in his arms (I was on the side next to the house, and could see
  all that went on); he placed her carefully in the carriage, while the
  house servants stood round crying.
  
  “Good-by, again,” he said; “we shall not forget any of you,” and he got
  in. “Drive on, John.”
  
  Joe jumped up, and we trotted slowly through the park and through the
  village, where the people were standing at their doors to have a last
  look and to say, “God bless them.”
  
  When we reached the railway station I think mistress walked from the
  carriage to the waiting-room. I heard her say in her own sweet voice,
  “Good-by, John. God bless you.” I felt the rein twitch, but John made no
  answer; perhaps he could not speak. As soon as Joe had taken the things
  out of the carriage John called him to stand by the horses, while he
  went on the platform. Poor Joe! he stood close up to our heads to hide
  his tears. Very soon the train came puffing up into the station; then
  two or three minutes, and the doors were slammed to, the guard whistled,
  and the train glided away, leaving behind it only clouds of white smoke
  and some very heavy hearts.
  
  When it was quite out of sight John came back.
  
  “We shall never see her again,” he said--“never.” He took the reins,
  mounted the box, and with Joe drove slowly home; but it was not our home
  now.
  
  
  
  
  Part II
  
  
  
  
  22 Earlshall
  
  
  The next morning after breakfast Joe put Merrylegs into the mistress’
  low chaise to take him to the vicarage; he came first and said good-by
  to us, and Merrylegs neighed to us from the yard. Then John put the
  saddle on Ginger and the leading rein on me, and rode us across the
  country about fifteen miles to Earlshall Park, where the Earl of W----
  lived. There was a very fine house and a great deal of stabling. We went
  into the yard through a stone gateway, and John asked for Mr. York. It
  was some time before he came. He was a fine-looking, middle-aged man,
  and his voice said at once that he expected to be obeyed. He was very
  friendly and polite to John, and after giving us a slight look he
  called a groom to take us to our boxes, and invited John to take some
  refreshment.
  
  We were taken to a light, airy stable, and placed in boxes adjoining
  each other, where we were rubbed down and fed. In about half an hour
  John and Mr. York, who was to be our new coachman, came in to see us.
  
  “Now, Mr. Manly,” he said, after carefully looking at us both, “I can
  see no fault in these horses; but we all know that horses have their
  peculiarities as well as men, and that sometimes they need different
  treatment. I should like to know if there is anything particular in
  either of these that you would like to mention.”
  
  “Well,” said John, “I don’t believe there is a better pair of horses in
  the country, and right grieved I am to part with them, but they are not
  alike. The black one is the most perfect temper I ever knew; I suppose
  he has never known a hard word or a blow since he was foaled, and all
  his pleasure seems to be to do what you wish; but the chestnut, I fancy,
  must have had bad treatment; we heard as much from the dealer. She came
  to us snappish and suspicious, but when she found what sort of place
  ours was, it all went off by degrees; for three years I have never seen
  the smallest sign of temper, and if she is well treated there is not
  a better, more willing animal than she is. But she is naturally a more
  irritable constitution than the black horse; flies tease her more;
  anything wrong in the harness frets her more; and if she were ill-used
  or unfairly treated she would not be unlikely to give tit for tat. You
  know that many high-mettled horses will do so.”
  
  “Of course,” said York, “I quite understand; but you know it is not easy
  in stables like these to have all the grooms just what they should be. I
  do my best, and there I must leave it. I’ll remember what you have said
  about the mare.”
  
  They were going out of the stable, when John stopped and said, “I had
  better mention that we have never used the check-rein with either of
  them; the black horse never had one on, and the dealer said it was the
  gag-bit that spoiled the other’s temper.”
  
  “Well,” said York, “if they come here they must wear the check-rein. I
  prefer a loose rein myself, and his lordship is always very reasonable
  about horses; but my lady--that’s another thing; she will have style,
  and if her carriage horses are not reined up tight she wouldn’t look at
  them. I always stand out against the gag-bit, and shall do so, but it
  must be tight up when my lady rides!”
  
  “I am sorry for it, very sorry,” said John; “but I must go now, or I
  shall lose the train.”
  
  He came round to each of us to pat and speak to us for the last time;
  his voice sounded very sad.
  
  I held my face close to him; that was all I could do to say good-by; and
  then he was gone, and I have never seen him since.
  
  The next day Lord W---- came to look at us; he seemed pleased with our
  appearance.
  
  “I have great confidence in these horses,” he said, “from the character
  my friend Mr. Gordon has given me of them. Of course they are not a
  match in color, but my idea is that they will do very well for the
  carriage while we are in the country. Before we go to London I must try
  to match Baron; the black horse, I believe, is perfect for riding.”
  
  York then told him what John had said about us.
  
  “Well,” said he, “you must keep an eye to the mare, and put the
  check-rein easy; I dare say they will do very well with a little
  humoring at first. I’ll mention it to your lady.”
  
  In the afternoon we were harnessed and put in the carriage, and as the
  stable clock struck three we were led round to the front of the house.
  It was all very grand, and three or four times as large as the old house
  at Birtwick, but not half so pleasant, if a horse may have an opinion.
  Two footmen were standing ready, dressed in drab livery, with scarlet
  breeches and white stockings. Presently we heard the rustling sound of
  silk as my lady came down the flight of stone steps. She stepped round
  to look at us; she was a tall, proud-looking woman, and did not
  seem pleased about something, but she said nothing, and got into the
  carriage. This was the first time of wearing a check-rein, and I must
  say, though it certainly was a nuisance not to be able to get my head
  down now and then, it did not pull my head higher than I was accustomed
  to carry it. I felt anxious about Ginger, but she seemed to be quiet and
  content.
  
  The next day at three o’clock we were again at the door, and the footmen
  as before; we heard the silk dress rustle and the lady came down the
  steps, and in an imperious voice she said, “York, you must put those
  horses’ heads higher; they are not fit to be seen.”
  
  York got down, and said very respectfully, “I beg your pardon, my lady,
  but these horses have not been reined up for three years, and my lord
  said it would be safer to bring them to it by degrees; but if your
  ladyship pleases I can take them up a little more.”
  
  “Do so,” she said.
  
  York came round to our heads and shortened the rein himself--one hole,
  I think; every little makes a difference, be it for better or worse, and
  that day we had a steep hill to go up. Then I began to understand what
  I had heard of. Of course, I wanted to put my head forward and take the
  carriage up with a will, as we had been used to do; but no, I had to
  pull with my head up now, and that took all the spirit out of me, and
  the strain came on my back and legs. When we came in Ginger said, “Now
  you see what it is like; but this is not bad, and if it does not get
  much worse than this I shall say nothing about it, for we are very well
  treated here; but if they strain me up tight, why, let ‘em look out! I
  can’t bear it, and I won’t.”
  
  Day by day, hole by hole, our bearing reins were shortened, and instead
  of looking forward with pleasure to having my harness put on, as I used
  to do, I began to dread it. Ginger, too, seemed restless, though she
  said very little. At last I thought the worst was over; for several days
  there was no more shortening, and I determined to make the best of
  it and do my duty, though it was now a constant harass instead of a
  pleasure; but the worst was not come.
  
  
  
  
  23 A Strike for Liberty
  
  
  One day my lady came down later than usual, and the silk rustled more
  than ever.
  
  “Drive to the Duchess of B----‘s,” she said, and then after a pause,
  “Are you never going to get those horses’ heads up, York? Raise them at
  once and let us have no more of this humoring and nonsense.”
  
  York came to me first, while the groom stood at Ginger’s head. He drew
  my head back and fixed the rein so tight that it was almost intolerable;
  then he went to Ginger, who was impatiently jerking her head up and down
  against the bit, as was her way now. She had a good idea of what was
  coming, and the moment York took the rein off the terret in order to
  shorten it she took her opportunity and reared up so suddenly that York
  had his nose roughly hit and his hat knocked off; the groom was nearly
  thrown off his legs. At once they both flew to her head; but she was
  a match for them, and went on plunging, rearing, and kicking in a most
  desperate manner. At last she kicked right over the carriage pole and
  fell down, after giving me a severe blow on my near quarter. There is no
  knowing what further mischief she might have done had not York promptly
  sat himself down flat on her head to prevent her struggling, at the
  same time calling out, “Unbuckle the black horse! Run for the winch and
  unscrew the carriage pole! Cut the trace here, somebody, if you can’t
  unhitch it!” One of the footmen ran for the winch, and another brought
  a knife from the house. The groom soon set me free from Ginger and the
  carriage, and led me to my box. He just turned me in as I was and ran
  back to York. I was much excited by what had happened, and if I had ever
  been used to kick or rear I am sure I should have done it then; but
  I never had, and there I stood, angry, sore in my leg, my head still
  strained up to the terret on the saddle, and no power to get it down. I
  was very miserable and felt much inclined to kick the first person who
  came near me.
  
  Before long, however, Ginger was led in by two grooms, a good deal
  knocked about and bruised. York came with her and gave his orders, and
  then came to look at me. In a moment he let down my head.
  
  “Confound these check-reins!” he said to himself; “I thought we should
  have some mischief soon. Master will be sorely vexed. But there, if a
  woman’s husband can’t rule her of course a servant can’t; so I wash my
  hands of it, and if she can’t get to the duchess’ garden party I can’t
  help it.”
  
  York did not say this before the men; he always spoke respectfully when
  they were by. Now he felt me all over, and soon found the place above my
  hock where I had been kicked. It was swelled and painful; he ordered it
  to be sponged with hot water, and then some lotion was put on.
  
  Lord W---- was much put out when he learned what had happened; he blamed
  York for giving way to his mistress, to which he replied that in future
  he would much prefer to receive his orders only from his lordship; but
  I think nothing came of it, for things went on the same as before. I
  thought York might have stood up better for his horses, but perhaps I am
  no judge.
  
  Ginger was never put into the carriage again, but when she was well of
  her bruises one of the Lord W----‘s younger sons said he should like
  to have her; he was sure she would make a good hunter. As for me, I was
  obliged still to go in the carriage, and had a fresh partner called Max;
  he had always been used to the tight rein. I asked him how it was he
  bore it.
  
  “Well,” he said, “I bear it because I must; but it is shortening my
  life, and it will shorten yours too if you have to stick to it.”
  
  “Do you think,” I said, “that our masters know how bad it is for us?”
  
  “I can’t say,” he replied, “but the dealers and the horse-doctors know
  it very well. I was at a dealer’s once, who was training me and another
  horse to go as a pair; he was getting our heads up, as he said, a little
  higher and a little higher every day. A gentleman who was there asked
  him why he did so. ‘Because,’ said he, ‘people won’t buy them unless we
  do. The London people always want their horses to carry their heads high
  and to step high. Of course it is very bad for the horses, but then it
  is good for trade. The horses soon wear up, or get diseased, and they
  come for another pair.’ That,” said Max, “is what he said in my hearing,
  and you can judge for yourself.”
  
  What I suffered with that rein for four long months in my lady’s
  carriage it would be hard to describe; but I am quite sure that, had it
  lasted much longer, either my health or my temper would have given way.
  Before that, I never knew what it was to foam at the mouth, but now
  the action of the sharp bit on my tongue and jaw, and the constrained
  position of my head and throat, always caused me to froth at the mouth
  more or less. Some people think it very fine to see this, and say, “What
  fine spirited creatures!” But it is just as unnatural for horses as
  for men to foam at the mouth; it is a sure sign of some discomfort,
  and should be attended to. Besides this, there was a pressure on my
  windpipe, which often made my breathing very uncomfortable; when I
  returned from my work my neck and chest were strained and painful, my
  mouth and tongue tender, and I felt worn and depressed.
  
  In my old home I always knew that John and my master were my friends;
  but here, although in many ways I was well treated, I had no friend.
  York might have known, and very likely did know, how that rein harassed
  me; but I suppose he took it as a matter of course that it could not be
  helped; at any rate, nothing was done to relieve me.
  
  
  
  
  24 The Lady Anne, or a Runaway Horse
  
  
  Early in the spring, Lord W---- and part of his family went up to
  London, and took York with them. I and Ginger and some other horses were
  left at home for use, and the head groom was left in charge.
  
  The Lady Harriet, who remained at the hall, was a great invalid, and
  never went out in the carriage, and the Lady Anne preferred riding on
  horseback with her brother or cousins. She was a perfect horsewoman, and
  as gay and gentle as she was beautiful. She chose me for her horse, and
  named me “Black Auster”. I enjoyed these rides very much in the clear
  cold air, sometimes with Ginger, sometimes with Lizzie. This Lizzie was
  a bright bay mare, almost thoroughbred, and a great favorite with the
  gentlemen, on account of her fine action and lively spirit; but Ginger,
  who knew more of her than I did, told me she was rather nervous.
  
  There was a gentleman of the name of Blantyre staying at the hall;
  he always rode Lizzie, and praised her so much that one day Lady Anne
  ordered the side-saddle to be put on her, and the other saddle on me.
  When we came to the door the gentleman seemed very uneasy.
  
  “How is this?” he said. “Are you tired of your good Black Auster?”
  
  “Oh, no, not at all,” she replied, “but I am amiable enough to let you
  ride him for once, and I will try your charming Lizzie. You must confess
  that in size and appearance she is far more like a lady’s horse than my
  own favorite.”
  
  “Do let me advise you not to mount her,” he said; “she is a charming
  creature, but she is too nervous for a lady. I assure you, she is not
  perfectly safe; let me beg you to have the saddles changed.”
  
  “My dear cousin,” said Lady Anne, laughing, “pray do not trouble your
  good careful head about me. I have been a horsewoman ever since I was a
  baby, and I have followed the hounds a great many times, though I know
  you do not approve of ladies hunting; but still that is the fact, and
  I intend to try this Lizzie that you gentlemen are all so fond of; so
  please help me to mount, like a good friend as you are.”
  
  There was no more to be said; he placed her carefully on the saddle,
  looked to the bit and curb, gave the reins gently into her hand, and
  then mounted me. Just as we were moving off a footman came out with a
  slip of paper and message from the Lady Harriet. “Would they ask this
  question for her at Dr. Ashley’s, and bring the answer?”
  
  The village was about a mile off, and the doctor’s house was the last
  in it. We went along gayly enough till we came to his gate. There was a
  short drive up to the house between tall evergreens.
  
  Blantyre alighted at the gate, and was going to open it for Lady Anne,
  but she said, “I will wait for you here, and you can hang Auster’s rein
  on the gate.”
  
  He looked at her doubtfully. “I will not be five minutes,” he said.
  
  “Oh, do not hurry yourself; Lizzie and I shall not run away from you.”
  
  He hung my rein on one of the iron spikes, and was soon hidden among the
  trees. Lizzie was standing quietly by the side of the road a few paces
  off, with her back to me. My young mistress was sitting easily with a
  loose rein, humming a little song. I listened to my rider’s footsteps
  until they reached the house, and heard him knock at the door. There was
  a meadow on the opposite side of the road, the gate of which stood open;
  just then some cart horses and several young colts came trotting out in
  a very disorderly manner, while a boy behind was cracking a great whip.
  The colts were wild and frolicsome, and one of them bolted across the
  road and blundered up against Lizzie’s hind legs, and whether it was
  the stupid colt, or the loud cracking of the whip, or both together, I
  cannot say, but she gave a violent kick, and dashed off into a headlong
  gallop. It was so sudden that Lady Anne was nearly unseated, but she
  soon recovered herself. I gave a loud, shrill neigh for help; again and
  again I neighed, pawing the ground impatiently, and tossing my head to
  get the rein loose. I had not long to wait. Blantyre came running to
  the gate; he looked anxiously about, and just caught sight of the flying
  figure, now far away on the road. In an instant he sprang to the saddle.
  I needed no whip, no spur, for I was as eager as my rider; he saw it,
  and giving me a free rein, and leaning a little forward, we dashed after
  them.
  
  For about a mile and a half the road ran straight, and then bent to the
  right, after which it divided into two roads. Long before we came to
  the bend she was out of sight. Which way had she turned? A woman was
  standing at her garden gate, shading her eyes with her hand, and looking
  eagerly up the road. Scarcely drawing the rein, Blantyre shouted, “Which
  way?” “To the right!” cried the woman, pointing with her hand, and away
  we went up the right-hand road; then for a moment we caught sight of
  her; another bend and she was hidden again. Several times we caught
  glimpses, and then lost them. We scarcely seemed to gain ground upon
  them at all. An old road-mender was standing near a heap of stones, his
  shovel dropped and his hands raised. As we came near he made a sign to
  speak. Blantyre drew the rein a little. “To the common, to the common,
  sir; she has turned off there.” I knew this common very well; it was for
  the most part very uneven ground, covered with heather and dark-green
  furze bushes, with here and there a scrubby old thorn-tree; there were
  also open spaces of fine short grass, with ant-hills and mole-turns
  everywhere; the worst place I ever knew for a headlong gallop.
  
  We had hardly turned on the common, when we caught sight again of the
  green habit flying on before us. My lady’s hat was gone, and her long
  brown hair was streaming behind her. Her head and body were thrown back,
  as if she were pulling with all her remaining strength, and as if that
  strength were nearly exhausted. It was clear that the roughness of the
  ground had very much lessened Lizzie’s speed, and there seemed a chance
  that we might overtake her.
  
  While we were on the highroad, Blantyre had given me my head; but now,
  with a light hand and a practiced eye, he guided me over the ground in
  such a masterly manner that my pace was scarcely slackened, and we were
  decidedly gaining on them.
  
  About halfway across the heath there had been a wide dike recently cut,
  and the earth from the cutting was cast up roughly on the other side.
  Surely this would stop them! But no; with scarcely a pause Lizzie took
  the leap, stumbled among the rough clods and fell. Blantyre groaned,
  “Now, Auster, do your best!” He gave me a steady rein. I gathered myself
  well together and with one determined leap cleared both dike and bank.
  
  Motionless among the heather, with her face to the earth, lay my poor
  young mistress. Blantyre kneeled down and called her name: there was no
  sound. Gently he turned her face upward: it was ghastly white and
  the eyes were closed. “Annie, dear Annie, do speak!” But there was no
  answer. He unbuttoned her habit, loosened her collar, felt her hands and
  wrist, then started up and looked wildly round him for help.
  
  At no great distance there were two men cutting turf, who, seeing Lizzie
  running wild without a rider, had left their work to catch her.
  
  Blantyre’s halloo soon brought them to the spot. The foremost man seemed
  much troubled at the sight, and asked what he could do.
  
  “Can you ride?”
  
  “Well, sir, I bean’t much of a horseman, but I’d risk my neck for the
  Lady Anne; she was uncommon good to my wife in the winter.”
  
  “Then mount this horse, my friend--your neck will be quite safe--and
  ride to the doctor’s and ask him to come instantly; then on to the hall;
  tell them all that you know, and bid them send me the carriage, with
  Lady Anne’s maid and help. I shall stay here.”
  
  “All right, sir, I’ll do my best, and I pray God the dear young lady may
  open her eyes soon.” Then, seeing the other man, he called out, “Here,
  Joe, run for some water, and tell my missis to come as quick as she can
  to the Lady Anne.”
  
  He then somehow scrambled into the saddle, and with a “Gee up” and a
  clap on my sides with both his legs, he started on his journey, making
  a little circuit to avoid the dike. He had no whip, which seemed to
  trouble him; but my pace soon cured that difficulty, and he found the
  best thing he could do was to stick to the saddle and hold me in, which
  he did manfully. I shook him as little as I could help, but once or
  twice on the rough ground he called out, “Steady! Woah! Steady!” On the
  highroad we were all right; and at the doctor’s and the hall he did his
  errand like a good man and true. They asked him in to take a drop of
  something. “No, no,” he said; “I’ll be back to ‘em again by a short cut
  through the fields, and be there afore the carriage.”
  
  There was a great deal of hurry and excitement after the news became
  known. I was just turned into my box; the saddle and bridle were taken
  off, and a cloth thrown over me.
  
  Ginger was saddled and sent off in great haste for Lord George, and I
  soon heard the carriage roll out of the yard.
  
  It seemed a long time before Ginger came back, and before we were left
  alone; and then she told me all that she had seen.
  
  “I can’t tell much,” she said. “We went a gallop nearly all the way, and
  got there just as the doctor rode up. There was a woman sitting on the
  ground with the lady’s head in her lap. The doctor poured something into
  her mouth, but all that I heard was, ‘She is not dead.’ Then I was led
  off by a man to a little distance. After awhile she was taken to
  the carriage, and we came home together. I heard my master say to
  a gentleman who stopped him to inquire, that he hoped no bones were
  broken, but that she had not spoken yet.”
  
  When Lord George took Ginger for hunting, York shook his head; he said
  it ought to be a steady hand to train a horse for the first season, and
  not a random rider like Lord George.
  
  Ginger used to like it very much, but sometimes when she came back I
  could see that she had been very much strained, and now and then she
  gave a short cough. She had too much spirit to complain, but I could not
  help feeling anxious about her.
  
  Two days after the accident Blantyre paid me a visit; he patted me and
  praised me very much; he told Lord George that he was sure the horse
  knew of Annie’s danger as well as he did. “I could not have held him in
  if I would,” said he, “she ought never to ride any other horse.” I found
  by their conversation that my young mistress was now out of danger, and
  would soon be able to ride again. This was good news to me and I looked
  forward to a happy life.
  
  
  
  
  25 Reuben Smith
  
  
  Now I must say a little about Reuben Smith, who was left in charge of
  the stables when York went to London. No one more thoroughly understood
  his business than he did, and when he was all right there could not be
  a more faithful or valuable man. He was gentle and very clever in his
  management of horses, and could doctor them almost as well as a
  farrier, for he had lived two years with a veterinary surgeon. He was a
  first-rate driver; he could take a four-in-hand or a tandem as easily
  as a pair. He was a handsome man, a good scholar, and had very pleasant
  manners. I believe everybody liked him; certainly the horses did. The
  only wonder was that he should be in an under situation and not in the
  place of a head coachman like York; but he had one great fault and that
  was the love of drink. He was not like some men, always at it; he used
  to keep steady for weeks or months together, and then he would break
  out and have a “bout” of it, as York called it, and be a disgrace to
  himself, a terror to his wife, and a nuisance to all that had to do with
  him. He was, however, so useful that two or three times York had hushed
  the matter up and kept it from the earl’s knowledge; but one night, when
  Reuben had to drive a party home from a ball he was so drunk that he
  could not hold the reins, and a gentleman of the party had to mount the
  box and drive the ladies home. Of course, this could not be hidden, and
  Reuben was at once dismissed; his poor wife and little children had to
  turn out of the pretty cottage by the park gate and go where they could.
  Old Max told me all this, for it happened a good while ago; but shortly
  before Ginger and I came Smith had been taken back again. York had
  interceded for him with the earl, who is very kind-hearted, and the man
  had promised faithfully that he would never taste another drop as long
  as he lived there. He had kept his promise so well that York thought he
  might be safely trusted to fill his place while he was away, and he was
  so clever and honest that no one else seemed so well fitted for it.
  
  It was now early in April, and the family was expected home some time in
  May. The light brougham was to be fresh done up, and as Colonel Blantyre
  was obliged to return to his regiment it was arranged that Smith should
  drive him to the town in it, and ride back; for this purpose he took the
  saddle with him, and I was chosen for the journey. At the station the
  colonel put some money into Smith’s hand and bid him good-by, saying,
  “Take care of your young mistress, Reuben, and don’t let Black Auster be
  hacked about by any random young prig that wants to ride him--keep him
  for the lady.”
  
  We left the carriage at the maker’s, and Smith rode me to the White
  Lion, and ordered the hostler to feed me well, and have me ready for him
  at four o’clock. A nail in one of my front shoes had started as I came
  along, but the hostler did not notice it till just about four o’clock.
  Smith did not come into the yard till five, and then he said he should
  not leave till six, as he had met with some old friends. The man then
  told him of the nail, and asked if he should have the shoe looked to.
  
  “No,” said Smith, “that will be all right till we get home.”
  
  He spoke in a very loud, offhand way, and I thought it very unlike him
  not to see about the shoe, as he was generally wonderfully particular
  about loose nails in our shoes. He did not come at six nor seven, nor
  eight, and it was nearly nine o’clock before he called for me, and then
  it was with a loud, rough voice. He seemed in a very bad temper, and
  abused the hostler, though I could not tell what for.
  
  The landlord stood at the door and said, “Have a care, Mr. Smith!” but
  he answered angrily with an oath; and almost before he was out of the
  town he began to gallop, frequently giving me a sharp cut with his whip,
  though I was going at full speed. The moon had not yet risen, and it was
  very dark. The roads were stony, having been recently mended; going over
  them at this pace, my shoe became looser, and as we neared the turnpike
  gate it came off.
  
  If Smith had been in his right senses he would have been sensible of
  something wrong in my pace, but he was too drunk to notice.
  
  Beyond the turnpike was a long piece of road, upon which fresh stones
  had just been laid--large sharp stones, over which no horse could be
  driven quickly without risk of danger. Over this road, with one shoe
  gone, I was forced to gallop at my utmost speed, my rider meanwhile
  cutting into me with his whip, and with wild curses urging me to go
  still faster. Of course my shoeless foot suffered dreadfully; the hoof
  was broken and split down to the very quick, and the inside was terribly
  cut by the sharpness of the stones.
  
  This could not go on; no horse could keep his footing under such
  circumstances; the pain was too great. I stumbled, and fell with
  violence on both my knees. Smith was flung off by my fall, and, owing to
  the speed I was going at, he must have fallen with great force. I soon
  recovered my feet and limped to the side of the road, where it was free
  from stones. The moon had just risen above the hedge, and by its light
  I could see Smith lying a few yards beyond me. He did not rise; he made
  one slight effort to do so, and then there was a heavy groan. I could
  have groaned, too, for I was suffering intense pain both from my foot
  and knees; but horses are used to bear their pain in silence. I uttered
  no sound, but I stood there and listened. One more heavy groan from
  Smith; but though he now lay in the full moonlight I could see no
  motion. I could do nothing for him nor myself, but, oh! how I listened
  for the sound of horse, or wheels, or footsteps! The road was not much
  frequented, and at this time of the night we might stay for hours before
  help came to us. I stood watching and listening. It was a calm, sweet
  April night; there were no sounds but a few low notes of a nightingale,
  and nothing moved but the white clouds near the moon and a brown owl
  that flitted over the hedge. It made me think of the summer nights long
  ago, when I used to lie beside my mother in the green pleasant meadow at
  Farmer Grey’s.
  
  
  
  
  26 How it Ended
  
  
  It must have been nearly midnight when I heard at a great distance the
  sound of a horse’s feet. Sometimes the sound died away, then it grew
  clearer again and nearer. The road to Earlshall led through woods that
  belonged to the earl; the sound came in that direction, and I hoped it
  might be some one coming in search of us. As the sound came nearer and
  nearer I was almost sure I could distinguish Ginger’s step; a little
  nearer still, and I could tell she was in the dog-cart. I neighed
  loudly, and was overjoyed to hear an answering neigh from Ginger, and
  men’s voices. They came slowly over the stones, and stopped at the dark
  figure that lay upon the ground.
  
  One of the men jumped out, and stooped down over it. “It is Reuben,” he
  said, “and he does not stir!”
  
  The other man followed, and bent over him. “He’s dead,” he said; “feel
  how cold his hands are.”
  
  They raised him up, but there was no life, and his hair was soaked with
  blood. They laid him down again, and came and looked at me. They soon
  saw my cut knees.
  
  “Why, the horse has been down and thrown him! Who would have thought the
  black horse would have done that? Nobody thought he could fall. Reuben
  must have been lying here for hours! Odd, too, that the horse has not
  moved from the place.”
  
  Robert then attempted to lead me forward. I made a step, but almost fell
  again.
  
  “Halloo! he’s bad in his foot as well as his knees. Look here--his hoof
  is cut all to pieces; he might well come down, poor fellow! I tell you
  what, Ned, I’m afraid it hasn’t been all right with Reuben. Just think
  of his riding a horse over these stones without a shoe! Why, if he had
  been in his right senses he would just as soon have tried to ride him
  over the moon. I’m afraid it has been the old thing over again. Poor
  Susan! she looked awfully pale when she came to my house to ask if
  he had not come home. She made believe she was not a bit anxious, and
  talked of a lot of things that might have kept him. But for all that she
  begged me to go and meet him. But what must we do? There’s the horse to
  get home as well as the body, and that will be no easy matter.”
  
  Then followed a conversation between them, till it was agreed that
  Robert, as the groom, should lead me, and that Ned must take the body.
  It was a hard job to get it into the dog-cart, for there was no one to
  hold Ginger; but she knew as well as I did what was going on, and stood
  as still as a stone. I noticed that, because, if she had a fault, it was
  that she was impatient in standing.
  
  Ned started off very slowly with his sad load, and Robert came and
  looked at my foot again; then he took his handkerchief and bound it
  closely round, and so he led me home. I shall never forget that night
  walk; it was more than three miles. Robert led me on very slowly, and I
  limped and hobbled on as well as I could with great pain. I am sure he
  was sorry for me, for he often patted and encouraged me, talking to me
  in a pleasant voice.
  
  At last I reached my own box, and had some corn; and after Robert
  had wrapped up my knees in wet cloths, he tied up my foot in a bran
  poultice, to draw out the heat and cleanse it before the horse-doctor
  saw it in the morning, and I managed to get myself down on the straw,
  and slept in spite of the pain.
  
  The next day after the farrier had examined my wounds, he said he hoped
  the joint was not injured; and if so, I should not be spoiled for work,
  but I should never lose the blemish. I believe they did the best to make
  a good cure, but it was a long and painful one. Proud flesh, as they
  called it, came up in my knees, and was burned out with caustic; and
  when at last it was healed, they put a blistering fluid over the front
  of both knees to bring all the hair off; they had some reason for this,
  and I suppose it was all right.
  
  As Smith’s death had been so sudden, and no one was there to see it,
  there was an inquest held. The landlord and hostler at the White Lion,
  with several other people, gave evidence that he was intoxicated when he
  started from the inn. The keeper of the toll-gate said he rode at a hard
  gallop through the gate; and my shoe was picked up among the stones, so
  that the case was quite plain to them, and I was cleared of all blame.
  
  Everybody pitied Susan. She was nearly out of her mind; she kept saying
  over and over again, “Oh! he was so good--so good! It was all that
  cursed drink; why will they sell that cursed drink? Oh Reuben, Reuben!”
   So she went on till after he was buried; and then, as she had no home or
  relations, she, with her six little children, was obliged once more to
  leave the pleasant home by the tall oak-trees, and go into that great
  gloomy Union House.
  
  
  
  
  27 Ruined and Going Downhill
  
  
  As soon as my knees were sufficiently healed I was turned into a small
  meadow for a month or two; no other creature was there; and though I
  enjoyed the liberty and the sweet grass, yet I had been so long used to
  society that I felt very lonely. Ginger and I had become fast friends,
  and now I missed her company extremely. I often neighed when I heard
  horses’ feet passing in the road, but I seldom got an answer; till one
  morning the gate was opened, and who should come in but dear old Ginger.
  The man slipped off her halter, and left her there. With a joyful whinny
  I trotted up to her; we were both glad to meet, but I soon found that it
  was not for our pleasure that she was brought to be with me. Her story
  would be too long to tell, but the end of it was that she had been
  ruined by hard riding, and was now turned off to see what rest would do.
  
  Lord George was young and would take no warning; he was a hard rider,
  and would hunt whenever he could get the chance, quite careless of his
  horse. Soon after I left the stable there was a steeplechase, and he
  determined to ride. Though the groom told him she was a little strained,
  and was not fit for the race, he did not believe it, and on the day of
  the race urged Ginger to keep up with the foremost riders. With her high
  spirit, she strained herself to the utmost; she came in with the first
  three horses, but her wind was touched, besides which he was too heavy
  for her, and her back was strained. “And so,” she said, “here we are,
  ruined in the prime of our youth and strength, you by a drunkard, and I
  by a fool; it is very hard.” We both felt in ourselves that we were not
  what we had been. However, that did not spoil the pleasure we had in
  each other’s company; we did not gallop about as we once did, but we
  used to feed, and lie down together, and stand for hours under one
  of the shady lime-trees with our heads close to each other; and so we
  passed our time till the family returned from town.
  
  One day we saw the earl come into the meadow, and York was with him.
  Seeing who it was, we stood still under our lime-tree, and let them come
  up to us. They examined us carefully. The earl seemed much annoyed.
  
  “There is three hundred pounds flung away for no earthly use,” said he;
  “but what I care most for is that these horses of my old friend, who
  thought they would find a good home with me, are ruined. The mare shall
  have a twelve-month’s run, and we shall see what that will do for her;
  but the black one, he must be sold; ‘tis a great pity, but I could not
  have knees like these in my stables.”
  
  “No, my lord, of course not,” said York; “but he might get a place where
  appearance is not of much consequence, and still be well treated. I know
  a man in Bath, the master of some livery stables, who often wants a
  good horse at a low figure; I know he looks well after his horses.
  The inquest cleared the horse’s character, and your lordship’s
  recommendation, or mine, would be sufficient warrant for him.”
  
  “You had better write to him, York. I should be more particular about
  the place than the money he would fetch.”
  
  After this they left us.
  
  “They’ll soon take you away,” said Ginger, “and I shall lose the only
  friend I have, and most likely we shall never see each other again. ‘Tis
  a hard world!”
  
  About a week after this Robert came into the field with a halter, which
  he slipped over my head, and led me away. There was no leave-taking
  of Ginger; we neighed to each other as I was led off, and she trotted
  anxiously along by the hedge, calling to me as long as she could hear
  the sound of my feet.
  
  Through the recommendation of York, I was bought by the master of the
  livery stables. I had to go by train, which was new to me, and required
  a good deal of courage the first time; but as I found the puffing,
  rushing, whistling, and, more than all, the trembling of the horse-box
  in which I stood did me no real harm, I soon took it quietly.
  
  When I reached the end of my journey I found myself in a tolerably
  comfortable stable, and well attended to. These stables were not so
  airy and pleasant as those I had been used to. The stalls were laid on
  a slope instead of being level, and as my head was kept tied to the
  manger, I was obliged always to stand on the slope, which was very
  fatiguing. Men do not seem to know yet that horses can do more work if
  they can stand comfortably and can turn about; however, I was well fed
  and well cleaned, and, on the whole, I think our master took as much
  care of us as he could. He kept a good many horses and carriages of
  different kinds for hire. Sometimes his own men drove them; at
  others, the horse and chaise were let to gentlemen or ladies who drove
  themselves.
  
  
  
  
  28 A Job Horse and His Drivers
  
  
  Hitherto I had always been driven by people who at least knew how to
  drive; but in this place I was to get my experience of all the different
  kinds of bad and ignorant driving to which we horses are subjected; for
  I was a “job horse”, and was let out to all sorts of people who wished
  to hire me; and as I was good-tempered and gentle, I think I was oftener
  let out to the ignorant drivers than some of the other horses, because
  I could be depended upon. It would take a long time to tell of all the
  different styles in which I was driven, but I will mention a few of
  them.
  
  First, there were the tight-rein drivers--men who seemed to think that
  all depended on holding the reins as hard as they could, never relaxing
  the pull on the horse’s mouth, or giving him the least liberty of
  movement. They are always talking about “keeping the horse well in
  hand”, and “holding a horse up”, just as if a horse was not made to hold
  himself up.
  
  Some poor, broken-down horses, whose mouths have been made hard and
  insensible by just such drivers as these, may, perhaps, find some
  support in it; but for a horse who can depend upon his own legs, and who
  has a tender mouth and is easily guided, it is not only tormenting, but
  it is stupid.
  
  Then there are the loose-rein drivers, who let the reins lie easily on
  our backs, and their own hand rest lazily on their knees. Of course,
  such gentlemen have no control over a horse, if anything happens
  suddenly. If a horse shies, or starts, or stumbles, they are nowhere,
  and cannot help the horse or themselves till the mischief is done. Of
  course, for myself I had no objection to it, as I was not in the habit
  either of starting or stumbling, and had only been used to depend on my
  driver for guidance and encouragement. Still, one likes to feel the rein
  a little in going downhill, and likes to know that one’s driver is not
  gone to sleep.
  
  Besides, a slovenly way of driving gets a horse into bad and often lazy
  habits, and when he changes hands he has to be whipped out of them with
  more or less pain and trouble. Squire Gordon always kept us to our best
  paces and our best manners. He said that spoiling a horse and letting
  him get into bad habits was just as cruel as spoiling a child, and both
  had to suffer for it afterward.
  
  Besides, these drivers are often careless altogether, and will attend to
  anything else more than their horses. I went out in the phaeton one day
  with one of them; he had a lady and two children behind. He flopped the
  reins about as we started, and of course gave me several unmeaning cuts
  with the whip, though I was fairly off. There had been a good deal of
  road-mending going on, and even where the stones were not freshly laid
  down there were a great many loose ones about. My driver was laughing
  and joking with the lady and the children, and talking about the country
  to the right and the left; but he never thought it worth while to keep
  an eye on his horse or to drive on the smoothest parts of the road; and
  so it easily happened that I got a stone in one of my fore feet.
  
  Now, if Mr. Gordon or John, or in fact any good driver, had been there,
  he would have seen that something was wrong before I had gone three
  paces. Or even if it had been dark a practiced hand would have felt by
  the rein that there was something wrong in the step, and they would have
  got down and picked out the stone. But this man went on laughing and
  talking, while at every step the stone became more firmly wedged between
  my shoe and the frog of my foot. The stone was sharp on the inside and
  round on the outside, which, as every one knows, is the most dangerous
  kind that a horse can pick up, at the same time cutting his foot and
  making him most liable to stumble and fall.
  
  Whether the man was partly blind or only very careless I can’t say, but
  he drove me with that stone in my foot for a good half-mile before he
  saw anything. By that time I was going so lame with the pain that at
  last he saw it, and called out, “Well, here’s a go! Why, they have sent
  us out with a lame horse! What a shame!”
  
  He then chucked the reins and flipped about with the whip, saying, “Now,
  then, it’s no use playing the old soldier with me; there’s the journey
  to go, and it’s no use turning lame and lazy.”
  
  Just at this time a farmer came riding up on a brown cob. He lifted his
  hat and pulled up.
  
  “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, “but I think there is something the
  matter with your horse; he goes very much as if he had a stone in
  his shoe. If you will allow me I will look at his feet; these loose
  scattered stones are confounded dangerous things for the horses.”
  
  “He’s a hired horse,” said my driver. “I don’t know what’s the matter
  with him, but it is a great shame to send out a lame beast like this.”
  
  The farmer dismounted, and slipping his rein over his arm at once took
  up my near foot.
  
  “Bless me, there’s a stone! Lame! I should think so!”
  
  At first he tried to dislodge it with his hand, but as it was now
  very tightly wedged he drew a stone-pick out of his pocket, and very
  carefully and with some trouble got it out. Then holding it up he said,
  “There, that’s the stone your horse had picked up. It is a wonder he did
  not fall down and break his knees into the bargain!”
  
  “Well, to be sure!” said my driver; “that is a queer thing! I never knew
  that horses picked up stones before.”
  
  “Didn’t you?” said the farmer rather contemptuously; “but they do,
  though, and the best of them will do it, and can’t help it sometimes on
  such roads as these. And if you don’t want to lame your horse you must
  look sharp and get them out quickly. This foot is very much bruised,”
   he said, setting it gently down and patting me. “If I might advise,
  sir, you had better drive him gently for awhile; the foot is a good deal
  hurt, and the lameness will not go off directly.”
  
  Then mounting his cob and raising his hat to the lady he trotted off.
  
  When he was gone my driver began to flop the reins about and whip the
  harness, by which I understood that I was to go on, which of course I
  did, glad that the stone was gone, but still in a good deal of pain.
  
  This was the sort of experience we job horses often came in for.
  
  
  
  
  29 Cockneys
  
  
  Then there is the steam-engine style of driving; these drivers were
  mostly people from towns, who never had a horse of their own and
  generally traveled by rail.
  
  They always seemed to think that a horse was something like a
  steam-engine, only smaller. At any rate, they think that if only they
  pay for it a horse is bound to go just as far and just as fast and with
  just as heavy a load as they please. And be the roads heavy and muddy,
  or dry and good; be they stony or smooth, uphill or downhill, it is all
  the same--on, on, on, one must go, at the same pace, with no relief and
  no consideration.
  
  These people never think of getting out to walk up a steep hill. Oh, no,
  they have paid to ride, and ride they will! The horse? Oh, he’s used
  to it! What were horses made for, if not to drag people uphill? Walk! A
  good joke indeed! And so the whip is plied and the rein is chucked and
  often a rough, scolding voice cries out, “Go along, you lazy beast!” And
  then another slash of the whip, when all the time we are doing our
  very best to get along, uncomplaining and obedient, though often sorely
  harassed and down-hearted.
  
  This steam-engine style of driving wears us up faster than any other
  kind. I would far rather go twenty miles with a good considerate driver
  than I would go ten with some of these; it would take less out of me.
  
  Another thing, they scarcely ever put on the brake, however steep the
  downhill may be, and thus bad accidents sometimes happen; or if they do
  put it on, they often forget to take it off at the bottom of the hill,
  and more than once I have had to pull halfway up the next hill, with one
  of the wheels held by the brake, before my driver chose to think about
  it; and that is a terrible strain on a horse.
  
  Then these cockneys, instead of starting at an easy pace, as a gentleman
  would do, generally set off at full speed from the very stable-yard; and
  when they want to stop, they first whip us, and then pull up so suddenly
  that we are nearly thrown on our haunches, and our mouths jagged with
  the bit--they call that pulling up with a dash; and when they turn a
  corner they do it as sharply as if there were no right side or wrong
  side of the road.
  
  I well remember one spring evening I and Rory had been out for the day.
  (Rory was the horse that mostly went with me when a pair was ordered,
  and a good honest fellow he was.) We had our own driver, and as he was
  always considerate and gentle with us, we had a very pleasant day. We
  were coming home at a good smart pace, about twilight. Our road turned
  sharp to the left; but as we were close to the hedge on our own side,
  and there was plenty of room to pass, our driver did not pull us in. As
  we neared the corner I heard a horse and two wheels coming rapidly down
  the hill toward us. The hedge was high, and I could see nothing, but the
  next moment we were upon each other. Happily for me, I was on the side
  next the hedge. Rory was on the left side of the pole, and had not even
  a shaft to protect him. The man who was driving was making straight for
  the corner, and when he came in sight of us he had no time to pull over
  to his own side. The whole shock came upon Rory. The gig shaft ran right
  into the chest, making him stagger back with a cry that I shall never
  forget. The other horse was thrown upon his haunches and one shaft
  broken. It turned out that it was a horse from our own stables, with the
  high-wheeled gig that the young men were so fond of.
  
  The driver was one of those random, ignorant fellows, who don’t even
  know which is their own side of the road, or, if they know, don’t care.
  And there was poor Rory with his flesh torn open and bleeding, and the
  blood streaming down. They said if it had been a little more to one side
  it would have killed him; and a good thing for him, poor fellow, if it
  had.
  
  As it was, it was a long time before the wound healed, and then he was
  sold for coal-carting; and what that is, up and down those steep hills,
  only horses know. Some of the sights I saw there, where a horse had to
  come downhill with a heavily loaded two-wheel cart behind him, on which
  no brake could be placed, make me sad even now to think of.
  
  After Rory was disabled I often went in the carriage with a mare named
  Peggy, who stood in the next stall to mine. She was a strong, well-made
  animal, of a bright dun color, beautifully dappled, and with a
  dark-brown mane and tail. There was no high breeding about her, but she
  was very pretty and remarkably sweet-tempered and willing. Still, there
  was an anxious look about her eye, by which I knew that she had some
  trouble. The first time we went out together I thought she had a very
  odd pace; she seemed to go partly a trot, partly a canter, three or four
  paces, and then a little jump forward.
  
  It was very unpleasant for any horse who pulled with her, and made me
  quite fidgety. When we got home I asked her what made her go in that
  odd, awkward way.
  
  “Ah,” she said in a troubled manner, “I know my paces are very bad, but
  what can I do? It really is not my fault; it is just because my legs are
  so short. I stand nearly as high as you, but your legs are a good three
  inches longer above your knee than mine, and of course you can take a
  much longer step and go much faster. You see I did not make myself.
  I wish I could have done so; I would have had long legs then. All my
  troubles come from my short legs,” said Peggy, in a desponding tone.
  
  “But how is it,” I said, “when you are so strong and good-tempered and
  willing?”
  
  “Why, you see,” said she, “men will go so fast, and if one can’t keep up
  to other horses it is nothing but whip, whip, whip, all the time. And so
  I have had to keep up as I could, and have got into this ugly shuffling
  pace. It was not always so; when I lived with my first master I always
  went a good regular trot, but then he was not in such a hurry. He was a
  young clergyman in the country, and a good, kind master he was. He had
  two churches a good way apart, and a great deal of work, but he never
  scolded or whipped me for not going faster. He was very fond of me.
  I only wish I was with him now; but he had to leave and go to a large
  town, and then I was sold to a farmer.
  
  “Some farmers, you know, are capital masters; but I think this one was a
  low sort of man. He cared nothing about good horses or good driving; he
  only cared for going fast. I went as fast as I could, but that would
  not do, and he was always whipping; so I got into this way of making a
  spring forward to keep up. On market nights he used to stay very late at
  the inn, and then drive home at a gallop.
  
  “One dark night he was galloping home as usual, when all of a sudden the
  wheel came against some great heavy thing in the road, and turned the
  gig over in a minute. He was thrown out and his arm broken, and some of
  his ribs, I think. At any rate, it was the end of my living with him,
  and I was not sorry. But you see it will be the same everywhere for me,
  if men must go so fast. I wish my legs were longer!”
  
  Poor Peggy! I was very sorry for her, and I could not comfort her, for
  I knew how hard it was upon slow-paced horses to be put with fast ones;
  all the whipping comes to their share, and they can’t help it.
  
  She was often used in the phaeton, and was very much liked by some of
  the ladies, because she was so gentle; and some time after this she was
  sold to two ladies who drove themselves, and wanted a safe, good horse.
  
  I met her several times out in the country, going a good steady pace,
  and looking as gay and contented as a horse could be. I was very glad to
  see her, for she deserved a good place.
  
  After she left us another horse came in her stead. He was young, and had
  a bad name for shying and starting, by which he had lost a good place. I
  asked him what made him shy.
  
  “Well, I hardly know,” he said. “I was timid when I was young, and was a
  good deal frightened several times, and if I saw anything strange I
  used to turn and look at it--you see, with our blinkers one can’t see
  or understand what a thing is unless one looks round--and then my master
  always gave me a whipping, which of course made me start on, and did not
  make me less afraid. I think if he would have let me just look at things
  quietly, and see that there was nothing to hurt me, it would have been
  all right, and I should have got used to them. One day an old gentleman
  was riding with him, and a large piece of white paper or rag blew across
  just on one side of me. I shied and started forward. My master as usual
  whipped me smartly, but the old man cried out, ‘You’re wrong! you’re
  wrong! You should never whip a horse for shying; he shies because he is
  frightened, and you only frighten him more and make the habit worse.’
  So I suppose all men don’t do so. I am sure I don’t want to shy for the
  sake of it; but how should one know what is dangerous and what is not,
  if one is never allowed to get used to anything? I am never afraid of
  what I know. Now I was brought up in a park where there were deer; of
  course I knew them as well as I did a sheep or a cow, but they are not
  common, and I know many sensible horses who are frightened at them, and
  who kick up quite a shindy before they will pass a paddock where there
  are deer.”
  
  I knew what my companion said was true, and I wished that every young
  horse had as good masters as Farmer Grey and Squire Gordon.
  
  Of course we sometimes came in for good driving here. I remember one
  morning I was put into the light gig, and taken to a house in Pulteney
  Street. Two gentlemen came out; the taller of them came round to my
  head; he looked at the bit and bridle, and just shifted the collar with
  his hand, to see if it fitted comfortably.
  
  “Do you consider this horse wants a curb?” he said to the hostler.
  
  “Well,” said the man, “I should say he would go just as well without;
  he has an uncommon good mouth, and though he has a fine spirit he has no
  vice; but we generally find people like the curb.”
  
  “I don’t like it,” said the gentleman; “be so good as to take it off,
  and put the rein in at the cheek. An easy mouth is a great thing on a
  long journey, is it not, old fellow?” he said, patting my neck.
  
  Then he took the reins, and they both got up. I can remember now how
  quietly he turned me round, and then with a light feel of the rein, and
  drawing the whip gently across my back, we were off.
  
  I arched my neck and set off at my best pace. I found I had some one
  behind me who knew how a good horse ought to be driven. It seemed like
  old times again, and made me feel quite gay.
  
  This gentleman took a great liking to me, and after trying me several
  times with the saddle he prevailed upon my master to sell me to a friend
  of his, who wanted a safe, pleasant horse for riding. And so it came to
  pass that in the summer I was sold to Mr. Barry.
  
  
  
  
  30 A Thief
  
  
  My new master was an unmarried man. He lived at Bath, and was much
  engaged in business. His doctor advised him to take horse exercise, and
  for this purpose he bought me. He hired a stable a short distance from
  his lodgings, and engaged a man named Filcher as groom. My master knew
  very little about horses, but he treated me well, and I should have had
  a good and easy place but for circumstances of which he was ignorant. He
  ordered the best hay with plenty of oats, crushed beans, and bran,
  with vetches, or rye grass, as the man might think needful. I heard the
  master give the order, so I knew there was plenty of good food, and I
  thought I was well off.
  
  For a few days all went on well. I found that my groom understood
  his business. He kept the stable clean and airy, and he groomed me
  thoroughly; and was never otherwise than gentle. He had been an hostler
  in one of the great hotels in Bath. He had given that up, and now
  cultivated fruit and vegetables for the market, and his wife bred and
  fattened poultry and rabbits for sale. After awhile it seemed to me that
  my oats came very short; I had the beans, but bran was mixed with them
  instead of oats, of which there were very few; certainly not more than a
  quarter of what there should have been. In two or three weeks this began
  to tell upon my strength and spirits. The grass food, though very good,
  was not the thing to keep up my condition without corn. However, I
  could not complain, nor make known my wants. So it went on for about two
  months; and I wondered that my master did not see that something was
  the matter. However, one afternoon he rode out into the country to see a
  friend of his, a gentleman farmer, who lived on the road to Wells.
  
  This gentleman had a very quick eye for horses; and after he had
  welcomed his friend he said, casting his eye over me:
  
  “It seems to me, Barry, that your horse does not look so well as he did
  when you first had him; has he been well?”
  
  “Yes, I believe so,” said my master; “but he is not nearly so lively as
  he was; my groom tells me that horses are always dull and weak in the
  autumn, and that I must expect it.”
  
  “Autumn, fiddlesticks!” said the farmer. “Why, this is only August; and
  with your light work and good food he ought not to go down like this,
  even if it was autumn. How do you feed him?”
  
  My master told him. The other shook his head slowly, and began to feel
  me over.
  
  “I can’t say who eats your corn, my dear fellow, but I am much mistaken
  if your horse gets it. Have you ridden very fast?”
  
  “No, very gently.”
  
  “Then just put your hand here,” said he, passing his hand over my neck
  and shoulder; “he is as warm and damp as a horse just come up from
  grass. I advise you to look into your stable a little more. I hate to be
  suspicious, and, thank heaven, I have no cause to be, for I can trust my
  men, present or absent; but there are mean scoundrels, wicked enough to
  rob a dumb beast of his food. You must look into it.” And turning to
  his man, who had come to take me, “Give this horse a right good feed of
  bruised oats, and don’t stint him.”
  
  “Dumb beasts!” Yes, we are; but if I could have spoken I could have told
  my master where his oats went to. My groom used to come every morning
  about six o’clock, and with him a little boy, who always had a covered
  basket with him. He used to go with his father into the harness-room,
  where the corn was kept, and I could see them, when the door stood ajar,
  fill a little bag with oats out of the bin, and then he used to be off.
  
  Five or six mornings after this, just as the boy had left the stable,
  the door was pushed open, and a policeman walked in, holding the child
  tight by the arm; another policeman followed, and locked the door on the
  inside, saying, “Show me the place where your father keeps his rabbits’
  food.”
  
  The boy looked very frightened and began to cry; but there was no
  escape, and he led the way to the corn-bin. Here the policeman found
  another empty bag like that which was found full of oats in the boy’s
  basket.
  
  Filcher was cleaning my feet at the time, but they soon saw him, and
  though he blustered a good deal they walked him off to the “lock-up”,
  and his boy with him. I heard afterward that the boy was not held to be
  guilty, but the man was sentenced to prison for two months.
  
  
  
  
  31 A Humbug
  
  
  My master was not immediately suited, but in a few days my new groom
  came. He was a tall, good-looking fellow enough; but if ever there was
  a humbug in the shape of a groom Alfred Smirk was the man. He was very
  civil to me, and never used me ill; in fact, he did a great deal of
  stroking and patting when his master was there to see it. He always
  brushed my mane and tail with water and my hoofs with oil before he
  brought me to the door, to make me look smart; but as to cleaning my
  feet or looking to my shoes, or grooming me thoroughly, he thought no
  more of that than if I had been a cow. He left my bit rusty, my saddle
  damp, and my crupper stiff.
  
  Alfred Smirk considered himself very handsome; he spent a great deal of
  time about his hair, whiskers and necktie, before a little looking-glass
  in the harness-room. When his master was speaking to him it was always,
  “Yes, sir; yes, sir”--touching his hat at every word; and every one
  thought he was a very nice young man and that Mr. Barry was very
  fortunate to meet with him. I should say he was the laziest, most
  conceited fellow I ever came near. Of course, it was a great thing not
  to be ill-used, but then a horse wants more than that. I had a loose
  box, and might have been very comfortable if he had not been too
  indolent to clean it out. He never took all the straw away, and the
  smell from what lay underneath was very bad; while the strong vapors
  that rose made my eyes smart and inflame, and I did not feel the same
  appetite for my food.
  
  One day his master came in and said, “Alfred, the stable smells rather
  strong; should not you give that stall a good scrub and throw down
  plenty of water?”
  
  “Well, sir,” he said, touching his cap, “I’ll do so if you please, sir;
  but it is rather dangerous, sir, throwing down water in a horse’s box;
  they are very apt to take cold, sir. I should not like to do him an
  injury, but I’ll do it if you please, sir.”
  
  “Well,” said his master, “I should not like him to take cold; but I
  don’t like the smell of this stable. Do you think the drains are all
  right?”
  
  “Well, sir, now you mention it, I think the drain does sometimes send
  back a smell; there may be something wrong, sir.”
  
  “Then send for the bricklayer and have it seen to,” said his master.
  
  “Yes, sir, I will.”
  
  The bricklayer came and pulled up a great many bricks, but found nothing
  amiss; so he put down some lime and charged the master five shillings,
  and the smell in my box was as bad as ever. But that was not all:
  standing as I did on a quantity of moist straw my feet grew unhealthy
  and tender, and the master used to say:
  
  “I don’t know what is the matter with this horse; he goes very
  fumble-footed. I am sometimes afraid he will stumble.”
  
  “Yes, sir,” said Alfred, “I have noticed the same myself, when I have
  exercised him.”
  
  Now the fact was that he hardly ever did exercise me, and when the
  master was busy I often stood for days together without stretching my
  legs at all, and yet being fed just as high as if I were at hard work.
  This often disordered my health, and made me sometimes heavy and dull,
  but more often restless and feverish. He never even gave me a meal
  of green food or a bran mash, which would have cooled me, for he
  was altogether as ignorant as he was conceited; and then, instead of
  exercise or change of food, I had to take horse balls and draughts;
  which, beside the nuisance of having them poured down my throat, used to
  make me feel ill and uncomfortable.
  
  One day my feet were so tender that, trotting over some fresh stones
  with my master on my back, I made two such serious stumbles that, as he
  came down Lansdown into the city, he stopped at the farrier’s, and asked
  him to see what was the matter with me. The man took up my feet one
  by one and examined them; then standing up and dusting his hands one
  against the other, he said:
  
  “Your horse has got the ‘thrush’, and badly, too; his feet are very
  tender; it is fortunate that he has not been down. I wonder your groom
  has not seen to it before. This is the sort of thing we find in foul
  stables, where the litter is never properly cleaned out. If you will
  send him here to-morrow I will attend to the hoof, and I will direct
  your man how to apply the liniment which I will give him.”
  
  The next day I had my feet thoroughly cleansed and stuffed with tow
  soaked in some strong lotion; and an unpleasant business it was.
  
  The farrier ordered all the litter to be taken out of my box day by day,
  and the floor kept very clean. Then I was to have bran mashes, a little
  green food, and not so much corn, till my feet were well again. With
  this treatment I soon regained my spirits; but Mr. Barry was so much
  disgusted at being twice deceived by his grooms that he determined to
  give up keeping a horse, and to hire when he wanted one. I was therefore
  kept till my feet were quite sound, and was then sold again.
  
  
  
  
  Part III
  
  
  
  
  32 A Horse Fair
  
  
  No doubt a horse fair is a very amusing place to those who have nothing
  to lose; at any rate, there is plenty to see.
  
  Long strings of young horses out of the country, fresh from the marshes;
  and droves of shaggy little Welsh ponies, no higher than Merrylegs; and
  hundreds of cart horses of all sorts, some of them with their long tails
  braided up and tied with scarlet cord; and a good many like myself,
  handsome and high-bred, but fallen into the middle class, through some
  accident or blemish, unsoundness of wind, or some other complaint. There
  were some splendid animals quite in their prime, and fit for anything;
  they were throwing out their legs and showing off their paces in high
  style, as they were trotted out with a leading rein, the groom running
  by the side. But round in the background there were a number of poor
  things, sadly broken down with hard work, with their knees knuckling
  over and their hind legs swinging out at every step, and there were some
  very dejected-looking old horses, with the under lip hanging down and
  the ears lying back heavily, as if there were no more pleasure in life,
  and no more hope; there were some so thin you might see all their ribs,
  and some with old sores on their backs and hips. These were sad sights
  for a horse to look upon, who knows not but he may come to the same
  state.
  
  There was a great deal of bargaining, of running up and beating down;
  and if a horse may speak his mind so far as he understands, I should say
  there were more lies told and more trickery at that horse fair than a
  clever man could give an account of. I was put with two or three other
  strong, useful-looking horses, and a good many people came to look at
  us. The gentlemen always turned from me when they saw my broken knees;
  though the man who had me swore it was only a slip in the stall.
  
  The first thing was to pull my mouth open, then to look at my eyes, then
  feel all the way down my legs, and give me a hard feel of the skin and
  flesh, and then try my paces. It was wonderful what a difference there
  was in the way these things were done. Some did it in a rough, offhand
  way, as if one was only a piece of wood; while others would take their
  hands gently over one’s body, with a pat now and then, as much as to
  say, “By your leave.” Of course I judged a good deal of the buyers by
  their manners to myself.
  
  There was one man, I thought, if he would buy me, I should be happy.
  He was not a gentleman, nor yet one of the loud, flashy sort that call
  themselves so. He was rather a small man, but well made, and quick in
  all his motions. I knew in a moment by the way he handled me, that he
  was used to horses; he spoke gently, and his gray eye had a kindly,
  cheery look in it. It may seem strange to say--but it is true all the
  same--that the clean, fresh smell there was about him made me take to
  him; no smell of old beer and tobacco, which I hated, but a fresh smell
  as if he had come out of a hayloft. He offered twenty-three pounds for
  me, but that was refused, and he walked away. I looked after him, but
  he was gone, and a very hard-looking, loud-voiced man came. I was
  dreadfully afraid he would have me; but he walked off. One or two more
  came who did not mean business. Then the hard-faced man came back again
  and offered twenty-three pounds. A very close bargain was being driven,
  for my salesman began to think he should not get all he asked, and must
  come down; but just then the gray-eyed man came back again. I could not
  help reaching out my head toward him. He stroked my face kindly.
  
  “Well, old chap,” he said, “I think we should suit each other. I’ll give
  twenty-four for him.”
  
  “Say twenty-five and you shall have him.”
  
  “Twenty-four ten,” said my friend, in a very decided tone, “and not
  another sixpence--yes or no?”
  
  “Done,” said the salesman; “and you may depend upon it there’s a
  monstrous deal of quality in that horse, and if you want him for cab
  work he’s a bargain.”
  
  The money was paid on the spot, and my new master took my halter, and
  led me out of the fair to an inn, where he had a saddle and bridle
  ready. He gave me a good feed of oats and stood by while I ate it,
  talking to himself and talking to me. Half an hour after we were on our
  way to London, through pleasant lanes and country roads, until we came
  into the great London thoroughfare, on which we traveled steadily, till
  in the twilight we reached the great city. The gas lamps were already
  lighted; there were streets to the right, and streets to the left, and
  streets crossing each other, for mile upon mile. I thought we should
  never come to the end of them. At last, in passing through one, we
  came to a long cab stand, when my rider called out in a cheery voice,
  “Good-night, governor!”
  
  “Halloo!” cried a voice. “Have you got a good one?”
  
  “I think so,” replied my owner.
  
  “I wish you luck with him.”
  
  “Thank you, governor,” and he rode on. We soon turned up one of the side
  streets, and about halfway up that we turned into a very narrow street,
  with rather poor-looking houses on one side, and what seemed to be
  coach-houses and stables on the other.
  
  My owner pulled up at one of the houses and whistled. The door flew
  open, and a young woman, followed by a little girl and boy, ran out.
  There was a very lively greeting as my rider dismounted.
  
  “Now, then, Harry, my boy, open the gates, and mother will bring us the
  lantern.”
  
  The next minute they were all standing round me in a small stable-yard.
  
  “Is he gentle, father?”
  
  “Yes, Dolly, as gentle as your own kitten; come and pat him.”
  
  At once the little hand was patting about all over my shoulder without
  fear. How good it felt!
  
  “Let me get him a bran mash while you rub him down,” said the mother.
  
  “Do, Polly, it’s just what he wants; and I know you’ve got a beautiful
  mash ready for me.”
  
  “Sausage dumpling and apple turnover!” shouted the boy, which set them
  all laughing. I was led into a comfortable, clean-smelling stall, with
  plenty of dry straw, and after a capital supper I lay down, thinking I
  was going to be happy.
  
  
  
  
  33 A London Cab Horse
  
  
  Jeremiah Barker was my new master’s name, but as every one called him
  Jerry, I shall do the same. Polly, his wife, was just as good a match as
  a man could have. She was a plump, trim, tidy little woman, with smooth,
  dark hair, dark eyes, and a merry little mouth. The boy was twelve years
  old, a tall, frank, good-tempered lad; and little Dorothy (Dolly they
  called her) was her mother over again, at eight years old. They were all
  wonderfully fond of each other; I never knew such a happy, merry family
  before or since. Jerry had a cab of his own, and two horses, which he
  drove and attended to himself. His other horse was a tall, white, rather
  large-boned animal called “Captain”. He was old now, but when he was
  young he must have been splendid; he had still a proud way of
  holding his head and arching his neck; in fact, he was a high-bred,
  fine-mannered, noble old horse, every inch of him. He told me that in
  his early youth he went to the Crimean War; he belonged to an officer
  in the cavalry, and used to lead the regiment. I will tell more of that
  hereafter.
  
  The next morning, when I was well-groomed, Polly and Dolly came into the
  yard to see me and make friends. Harry had been helping his father since
  the early morning, and had stated his opinion that I should turn out a
  “regular brick”. Polly brought me a slice of apple, and Dolly a piece
  of bread, and made as much of me as if I had been the “Black Beauty” of
  olden time. It was a great treat to be petted again and talked to in a
  gentle voice, and I let them see as well as I could that I wished to be
  friendly. Polly thought I was very handsome, and a great deal too good
  for a cab, if it was not for the broken knees.
  
  “Of course there’s no one to tell us whose fault that was,” said Jerry,
  “and as long as I don’t know I shall give him the benefit of the doubt;
  for a firmer, neater stepper I never rode. We’ll call him ‘Jack’, after
  the old one--shall we, Polly?”
  
  “Do,” she said, “for I like to keep a good name going.”
  
  Captain went out in the cab all the morning. Harry came in after school
  to feed me and give me water. In the afternoon I was put into the
  cab. Jerry took as much pains to see if the collar and bridle fitted
  comfortably as if he had been John Manly over again. When the crupper
  was let out a hole or two it all fitted well. There was no check-rein,
  no curb, nothing but a plain ring snaffle. What a blessing that was!
  
  After driving through the side street we came to the large cab stand
  where Jerry had said “Good-night”. On one side of this wide street were
  high houses with wonderful shop fronts, and on the other was an old
  church and churchyard, surrounded by iron palisades. Alongside these
  iron rails a number of cabs were drawn up, waiting for passengers; bits
  of hay were lying about on the ground; some of the men were standing
  together talking; some were sitting on their boxes reading the
  newspaper; and one or two were feeding their horses with bits of hay,
  and giving them a drink of water. We pulled up in the rank at the back
  of the last cab. Two or three men came round and began to look at me and
  pass their remarks.
  
  “Very good for a funeral,” said one.
  
  “Too smart-looking,” said another, shaking his head in a very wise way;
  “you’ll find out something wrong one of these fine mornings, or my name
  isn’t Jones.”
  
  “Well,” said Jerry pleasantly, “I suppose I need not find it out till it
  finds me out, eh? And if so, I’ll keep up my spirits a little longer.”
  
  Then there came up a broad-faced man, dressed in a great gray coat
  with great gray cape and great white buttons, a gray hat, and a blue
  comforter loosely tied round his neck; his hair was gray, too; but
  he was a jolly-looking fellow, and the other men made way for him.
  He looked me all over, as if he had been going to buy me; and then
  straightening himself up with a grunt, he said, “He’s the right sort for
  you, Jerry; I don’t care what you gave for him, he’ll be worth it.” Thus
  my character was established on the stand.
  
  This man’s name was Grant, but he was called “Gray Grant”, or “Governor
  Grant”. He had been the longest on that stand of any of the men, and
  he took it upon himself to settle matters and stop disputes. He was
  generally a good-humored, sensible man; but if his temper was a little
  out, as it was sometimes when he had drunk too much, nobody liked to
  come too near his fist, for he could deal a very heavy blow.
  
  The first week of my life as a cab horse was very trying. I had never
  been used to London, and the noise, the hurry, the crowds of horses,
  carts, and carriages that I had to make my way through made me feel
  anxious and harassed; but I soon found that I could perfectly trust my
  driver, and then I made myself easy and got used to it.
  
  Jerry was as good a driver as I had ever known, and what was better, he
  took as much thought for his horses as he did for himself. He soon found
  out that I was willing to work and do my best, and he never laid the
  whip on me unless it was gently drawing the end of it over my back when
  I was to go on; but generally I knew this quite well by the way in which
  he took up the reins, and I believe his whip was more frequently stuck
  up by his side than in his hand.
  
  In a short time I and my master understood each other as well as horse
  and man can do. In the stable, too, he did all that he could for our
  comfort. The stalls were the old-fashioned style, too much on the slope;
  but he had two movable bars fixed across the back of our stalls, so that
  at night, and when we were resting, he just took off our halters and
  put up the bars, and thus we could turn about and stand whichever way we
  pleased, which is a great comfort.
  
  Jerry kept us very clean, and gave us as much change of food as he
  could, and always plenty of it; and not only that, but he always gave us
  plenty of clean fresh water, which he allowed to stand by us both night
  and day, except of course when we came in warm. Some people say that a
  horse ought not to drink all he likes; but I know if we are allowed to
  drink when we want it we drink only a little at a time, and it does us
  a great deal more good than swallowing down half a bucketful at a time,
  because we have been left without till we are thirsty and miserable.
  Some grooms will go home to their beer and leave us for hours with our
  dry hay and oats and nothing to moisten them; then of course we gulp
  down too much at once, which helps to spoil our breathing and sometimes
  chills our stomachs. But the best thing we had here was our Sundays for
  rest; we worked so hard in the week that I do not think we could have
  kept up to it but for that day; besides, we had then time to enjoy each
  other’s company. It was on these days that I learned my companion’s
  history.
  
  
  
  
  34 An Old War Horse
  
  
  Captain had been broken in and trained for an army horse; his first
  owner was an officer of cavalry going out to the Crimean war. He said he
  quite enjoyed the training with all the other horses, trotting together,
  turning together, to the right hand or the left, halting at the word of
  command, or dashing forward at full speed at the sound of the trumpet
  or signal of the officer. He was, when young, a dark, dappled iron-gray,
  and considered very handsome. His master, a young, high-spirited
  gentleman, was very fond of him, and treated him from the first with the
  greatest care and kindness. He told me he thought the life of an army
  horse was very pleasant; but when it came to being sent abroad over the
  sea in a great ship, he almost changed his mind.
  
  “That part of it,” said he, “was dreadful! Of course we could not walk
  off the land into the ship; so they were obliged to put strong straps
  under our bodies, and then we were lifted off our legs in spite of our
  struggles, and were swung through the air over the water, to the deck of
  the great vessel. There we were placed in small close stalls, and never
  for a long time saw the sky, or were able to stretch our legs. The ship
  sometimes rolled about in high winds, and we were knocked about, and
  felt bad enough.
  
  “However, at last it came to an end, and we were hauled up, and swung
  over again to the land; we were very glad, and snorted and neighed for
  joy, when we once more felt firm ground under our feet.
  
  “We soon found that the country we had come to was very different from
  our own and that we had many hardships to endure besides the fighting;
  but many of the men were so fond of their horses that they did
  everything they could to make them comfortable in spite of snow, wet,
  and all things out of order.”
  
  “But what about the fighting?” said I, “was not that worse than anything
  else?”
  
  “Well,” said he, “I hardly know; we always liked to hear the trumpet
  sound, and to be called out, and were impatient to start off, though
  sometimes we had to stand for hours, waiting for the word of command;
  and when the word was given we used to spring forward as gayly and
  eagerly as if there were no cannon balls, bayonets, or bullets. I
  believe so long as we felt our rider firm in the saddle, and his hand
  steady on the bridle, not one of us gave way to fear, not even when the
  terrible bomb-shells whirled through the air and burst into a thousand
  pieces.
  
  “I, with my noble master, went into many actions together without a
  wound; and though I saw horses shot down with bullets, pierced through
  with lances, and gashed with fearful saber-cuts; though we left them
  dead on the field, or dying in the agony of their wounds, I don’t think
  I feared for myself. My master’s cheery voice, as he encouraged his
  men, made me feel as if he and I could not be killed. I had such perfect
  trust in him that while he was guiding me I was ready to charge up
  to the very cannon’s mouth. I saw many brave men cut down, many fall
  mortally wounded from their saddles. I had heard the cries and groans
  of the dying, I had cantered over ground slippery with blood, and
  frequently had to turn aside to avoid trampling on wounded man or horse,
  but, until one dreadful day, I had never felt terror; that day I shall
  never forget.”
  
  Here old Captain paused for awhile and drew a long breath; I waited, and
  he went on.
  
  “It was one autumn morning, and as usual, an hour before daybreak our
  cavalry had turned out, ready caparisoned for the day’s work, whether
  it might be fighting or waiting. The men stood by their horses waiting,
  ready for orders. As the light increased there seemed to be some
  excitement among the officers; and before the day was well begun we
  heard the firing of the enemy’s guns.
  
  “Then one of the officers rode up and gave the word for the men to
  mount, and in a second every man was in his saddle, and every horse
  stood expecting the touch of the rein, or the pressure of his rider’s
  heels, all animated, all eager; but still we had been trained so well
  that, except by the champing of our bits, and the restive tossing of our
  heads from time to time, it could not be said that we stirred.
  
  “My dear master and I were at the head of the line, and as all sat
  motionless and watchful, he took a little stray lock of my mane which
  had turned over on the wrong side, laid it over on the right, and
  smoothed it down with his hand; then patting my neck, he said, ‘We shall
  have a day of it to-day, Bayard, my beauty; but we’ll do our duty as we
  have done.’ He stroked my neck that morning more, I think, than he had
  ever done before; quietly on and on, as if he were thinking of something
  else. I loved to feel his hand on my neck, and arched my crest proudly
  and happily; but I stood very still, for I knew all his moods, and when
  he liked me to be quiet, and when gay.
  
  “I cannot tell all that happened on that day, but I will tell of the
  last charge that we made together; it was across a valley right in front
  of the enemy’s cannon. By this time we were well used to the roar of
  heavy guns, the rattle of musket fire, and the flying of shot near us;
  but never had I been under such a fire as we rode through on that day.
  From the right, from the left, and from the front, shot and shell poured
  in upon us. Many a brave man went down, many a horse fell, flinging his
  rider to the earth; many a horse without a rider ran wildly out of the
  ranks; then terrified at being alone, with no hand to guide him, came
  pressing in among his old companions, to gallop with them to the charge.
  
  “Fearful as it was, no one stopped, no one turned back. Every moment the
  ranks were thinned, but as our comrades fell, we closed in to keep
  them together; and instead of being shaken or staggered in our pace our
  gallop became faster and faster as we neared the cannon.
  
  “My master, my dear master was cheering on his comrades with his right
  arm raised on high, when one of the balls whizzing close to my head
  struck him. I felt him stagger with the shock, though he uttered no cry;
  I tried to check my speed, but the sword dropped from his right hand,
  the rein fell loose from the left, and sinking backward from the saddle
  he fell to the earth; the other riders swept past us, and by the force
  of their charge I was driven from the spot.
  
  “I wanted to keep my place by his side and not leave him under that
  rush of horses’ feet, but it was in vain; and now without a master or a
  friend I was alone on that great slaughter ground; then fear took hold
  on me, and I trembled as I had never trembled before; and I too, as I
  had seen other horses do, tried to join in the ranks and gallop with
  them; but I was beaten off by the swords of the soldiers. Just then a
  soldier whose horse had been killed under him caught at my bridle and
  mounted me, and with this new master I was again going forward; but our
  gallant company was cruelly overpowered, and those who remained alive
  after the fierce fight for the guns came galloping back over the same
  ground. Some of the horses had been so badly wounded that they could
  scarcely move from the loss of blood; other noble creatures were trying
  on three legs to drag themselves along, and others were struggling to
  rise on their fore feet, when their hind legs had been shattered by
  shot. After the battle the wounded men were brought in and the dead were
  buried.”
  
  “And what about the wounded horses?” I said; “were they left to die?”
  
  “No, the army farriers went over the field with their pistols and shot
  all that were ruined; some that had only slight wounds were brought back
  and attended to, but the greater part of the noble, willing creatures
  that went out that morning never came back! In our stables there was
  only about one in four that returned.
  
  “I never saw my dear master again. I believe he fell dead from the
  saddle. I never loved any other master so well. I went into many other
  engagements, but was only once wounded, and then not seriously; and when
  the war was over I came back again to England, as sound and strong as
  when I went out.”
  
  I said, “I have heard people talk about war as if it was a very fine
  thing.”
  
  “Ah!” said he, “I should think they never saw it. No doubt it is very
  fine when there is no enemy, when it is just exercise and parade and
  sham fight. Yes, it is very fine then; but when thousands of good brave
  men and horses are killed or crippled for life, it has a very different
  look.”
  
  “Do you know what they fought about?” said I.
  
  “No,” he said, “that is more than a horse can understand, but the enemy
  must have been awfully wicked people, if it was right to go all that way
  over the sea on purpose to kill them.”
  
  
  
  
  35 Jerry Barker
  
  
  I never knew a better man than my new master. He was kind and good, and
  as strong for the right as John Manly; and so good-tempered and merry
  that very few people could pick a quarrel with him. He was very fond of
  making little songs, and singing them to himself. One he was very fond
  of was this:
  
       “Come, father and mother,
       And sister and brother,
       Come, all of you, turn to
       And help one another.”
  
  And so they did; Harry was as clever at stable-work as a much older boy,
  and always wanted to do what he could. Then Polly and Dolly used to come
  in the morning to help with the cab--to brush and beat the cushions,
  and rub the glass, while Jerry was giving us a cleaning in the yard, and
  Harry was rubbing the harness. There used to be a great deal of laughing
  and fun between them, and it put Captain and me in much better spirits
  than if we had heard scolding and hard words. They were always early in
  the morning, for Jerry would say:
  
       “If you in the morning
       Throw minutes away,
       You can’t pick them up
       In the course of a day.
       You may hurry and scurry,
       And flurry and worry,
       You’ve lost them forever,
       Forever and aye.”
  
  He could not bear any careless loitering and waste of time; and nothing
  was so near making him angry as to find people, who were always late,
  wanting a cab horse to be driven hard, to make up for their idleness.
  
  One day two wild-looking young men came out of a tavern close by the
  stand, and called Jerry.
  
  “Here, cabby! look sharp, we are rather late; put on the steam, will
  you, and take us to the Victoria in time for the one o’clock train? You
  shall have a shilling extra.”
  
  “I will take you at the regular pace, gentlemen; shillings don’t pay for
  putting on the steam like that.”
  
  Larry’s cab was standing next to ours; he flung open the door, and said,
  “I’m your man, gentlemen! take my cab, my horse will get you there all
  right;” and as he shut them in, with a wink toward Jerry, said, “It’s
  against his conscience to go beyond a jog-trot.” Then slashing his jaded
  horse, he set off as hard as he could. Jerry patted me on the neck: “No,
  Jack, a shilling would not pay for that sort of thing, would it, old
  boy?”
  
  Although Jerry was determinedly set against hard driving, to please
  careless people, he always went a good fair pace, and was not against
  putting on the steam, as he said, if only he knew why.
  
  I well remember one morning, as we were on the stand waiting for a
  fare, that a young man, carrying a heavy portmanteau, trod on a piece of
  orange peel which lay on the pavement, and fell down with great force.
  
  Jerry was the first to run and lift him up. He seemed much stunned, and
  as they led him into a shop he walked as if he were in great pain. Jerry
  of course came back to the stand, but in about ten minutes one of the
  shopmen called him, so we drew up to the pavement.
  
  “Can you take me to the South-Eastern Railway?” said the young man;
  “this unlucky fall has made me late, I fear; but it is of great
  importance that I should not lose the twelve o’clock train. I should be
  most thankful if you could get me there in time, and will gladly pay you
  an extra fare.”
  
  “I’ll do my very best,” said Jerry heartily, “if you think you are well
  enough, sir,” for he looked dreadfully white and ill.
  
  “I must go,” he said earnestly, “please to open the door, and let us
  lose no time.”
  
  The next minute Jerry was on the box; with a cheery chirrup to me, and a
  twitch of the rein that I well understood.
  
  “Now then, Jack, my boy,” said he, “spin along, we’ll show them how we
  can get over the ground, if we only know why.”
  
  It is always difficult to drive fast in the city in the middle of the
  day, when the streets are full of traffic, but we did what could be
  done; and when a good driver and a good horse, who understand each
  other, are of one mind, it is wonderful what they can do. I had a very
  good mouth--that is I could be guided by the slightest touch of the
  rein; and that is a great thing in London, among carriages, omnibuses,
  carts, vans, trucks, cabs, and great wagons creeping along at a walking
  pace; some going one way, some another, some going slowly, others
  wanting to pass them; omnibuses stopping short every few minutes to take
  up a passenger, obliging the horse that is coming behind to pull up too,
  or to pass, and get before them; perhaps you try to pass, but just then
  something else comes dashing in through the narrow opening, and you
  have to keep in behind the omnibus again; presently you think you see a
  chance, and manage to get to the front, going so near the wheels on each
  side that half an inch nearer and they would scrape. Well, you get along
  for a bit, but soon find yourself in a long train of carts and carriages
  all obliged to go at a walk; perhaps you come to a regular block-up, and
  have to stand still for minutes together, till something clears out into
  a side street, or the policeman interferes; you have to be ready for
  any chance--to dash forward if there be an opening, and be quick as a
  rat-dog to see if there be room and if there be time, lest you get your
  own wheels locked or smashed, or the shaft of some other vehicle run
  into your chest or shoulder. All this is what you have to be ready for.
  If you want to get through London fast in the middle of the day it wants
  a deal of practice.
  
  Jerry and I were used to it, and no one could beat us at getting through
  when we were set upon it. I was quick and bold and could always trust
  my driver; Jerry was quick and patient at the same time, and could trust
  his horse, which was a great thing too. He very seldom used the whip; I
  knew by his voice, and his click, click, when he wanted to get on fast,
  and by the rein where I was to go; so there was no need for whipping;
  but I must go back to my story.
  
  The streets were very full that day, but we got on pretty well as far
  as the bottom of Cheapside, where there was a block for three or four
  minutes. The young man put his head out and said anxiously, “I think I
  had better get out and walk; I shall never get there if this goes on.”
  
  “I’ll do all that can be done, sir,” said Jerry; “I think we shall be
  in time. This block-up cannot last much longer, and your luggage is very
  heavy for you to carry, sir.”
  
  Just then the cart in front of us began to move on, and then we had a
  good turn. In and out, in and out we went, as fast as horseflesh could
  do it, and for a wonder had a good clear time on London Bridge, for
  there was a whole train of cabs and carriages all going our way at a
  quick trot, perhaps wanting to catch that very train. At any rate, we
  whirled into the station with many more, just as the great clock pointed
  to eight minutes to twelve o’clock.
  
  “Thank God! we are in time,” said the young man, “and thank you, too, my
  friend, and your good horse. You have saved me more than money can ever
  pay for. Take this extra half-crown.”
  
  “No, sir, no, thank you all the same; so glad we hit the time, sir;
  but don’t stay now, sir, the bell is ringing. Here, porter! take this
  gentleman’s luggage--Dover line twelve o’clock train--that’s it,” and
  without waiting for another word Jerry wheeled me round to make room for
  other cabs that were dashing up at the last minute, and drew up on one
  side till the crush was past.
  
  “‘So glad!’ he said, ‘so glad!’ Poor young fellow! I wonder what it was
  that made him so anxious!”
  
  Jerry often talked to himself quite loud enough for me to hear when we
  were not moving.
  
  On Jerry’s return to the rank there was a good deal of laughing and
  chaffing at him for driving hard to the train for an extra fare, as they
  said, all against his principles, and they wanted to know how much he
  had pocketed.
  
  “A good deal more than I generally get,” said he, nodding slyly; “what
  he gave me will keep me in little comforts for several days.”
  
  “Gammon!” said one.
  
  “He’s a humbug,” said another; “preaching to us and then doing the same
  himself.”
  
  “Look here, mates,” said Jerry; “the gentleman offered me half a crown
  extra, but I didn’t take it; ‘twas quite pay enough for me to see how
  glad he was to catch that train; and if Jack and I choose to have a
  quick run now and then to please ourselves, that’s our business and not
  yours.”
  
  “Well,” said Larry, “you’ll never be a rich man.”
  
  “Most likely not,” said Jerry; “but I don’t know that I shall be the
  less happy for that. I have heard the commandments read a great many
  times and I never noticed that any of them said, ‘Thou shalt be rich’;
  and there are a good many curious things said in the New Testament about
  rich men that I think would make me feel rather queer if I was one of
  them.”
  
  “If you ever do get rich,” said Governor Gray, looking over his shoulder
  across the top of his cab, “you’ll deserve it, Jerry, and you won’t find
  a curse come with your wealth. As for you, Larry, you’ll die poor; you
  spend too much in whipcord.”
  
  “Well,” said Larry, “what is a fellow to do if his horse won’t go
  without it?”
  
  “You never take the trouble to see if he will go without it; your whip
  is always going as if you had the St. Vitus’ dance in your arm, and
  if it does not wear you out it wears your horse out; you know you are
  always changing your horses; and why? Because you never give them any
  peace or encouragement.”
  
  “Well, I have not had good luck,” said Larry, “that’s where it is.”
  
  “And you never will,” said the governor. “Good Luck is rather particular
  who she rides with, and mostly prefers those who have got common sense
  and a good heart; at least that is my experience.”
  
  Governor Gray turned round again to his newspaper, and the other men
  went to their cabs.
  
  
  
  
  36 The Sunday Cab
  
  
  One morning, as Jerry had just put me into the shafts and was fastening
  the traces, a gentleman walked into the yard. “Your servant, sir,” said
  Jerry.
  
  “Good-morning, Mr. Barker,” said the gentleman. “I should be glad to
  make some arrangements with you for taking Mrs. Briggs regularly to
  church on Sunday mornings. We go to the New Church now, and that is
  rather further than she can walk.”
  
  “Thank you, sir,” said Jerry, “but I have only taken out a six-days’
  license,* and therefore I could not take a fare on a Sunday; it would
  not be legal.”
  
  
  * A few years since the annual charge for a cab license was very much
  reduced, and the difference between the six and seven days’ cabs was
  abolished.
  
  
  “Oh!” said the other, “I did not know yours was a six-days’ cab; but of
  course it would be very easy to alter your license. I would see that you
  did not lose by it; the fact is, Mrs. Briggs very much prefers you to
  drive her.”
  
  “I should be glad to oblige the lady, sir, but I had a seven-days’
  license once, and the work was too hard for me, and too hard for my
  horses. Year in and year out, not a day’s rest, and never a Sunday with
  my wife and children; and never able to go to a place of worship, which
  I had always been used to do before I took to the driving box. So for
  the last five years I have only taken a six-days’ license, and I find it
  better all the way round.”
  
  “Well, of course,” replied Mr. Briggs, “it is very proper that every
  person should have rest, and be able to go to church on Sundays, but I
  should have thought you would not have minded such a short distance for
  the horse, and only once a day; you would have all the afternoon and
  evening for yourself, and we are very good customers, you know.”
  
  “Yes, sir, that is true, and I am grateful for all favors, I am sure;
  and anything that I could do to oblige you, or the lady, I should be
  proud and happy to do; but I can’t give up my Sundays, sir, indeed I
  can’t. I read that God made man, and he made horses and all the other
  beasts, and as soon as He had made them He made a day of rest, and bade
  that all should rest one day in seven; and I think, sir, He must have
  known what was good for them, and I am sure it is good for me; I am
  stronger and healthier altogether, now that I have a day of rest; the
  horses are fresh too, and do not wear up nearly so fast. The six-day
  drivers all tell me the same, and I have laid by more money in the
  savings bank than ever I did before; and as for the wife and children,
  sir, why, heart alive! they would not go back to the seven days for all
  they could see.”
  
  “Oh, very well,” said the gentleman. “Don’t trouble yourself, Mr.
  Barker, any further. I will inquire somewhere else,” and he walked away.
  
  “Well,” says Jerry to me, “we can’t help it, Jack, old boy; we must have
  our Sundays.”
  
  “Polly!” he shouted, “Polly! come here.”
  
  She was there in a minute.
  
  “What is it all about, Jerry?”
  
  “Why, my dear, Mr. Briggs wants me to take Mrs. Briggs to church every
  Sunday morning. I say I have only a six-days’ license. He says, ‘Get a
  seven-days’ license, and I’ll make it worth your while;’ and you know,
  Polly, they are very good customers to us. Mrs. Briggs often goes out
  shopping for hours, or making calls, and then she pays down fair and
  honorable like a lady; there’s no beating down or making three hours
  into two hours and a half, as some folks do; and it is easy work for
  the horses; not like tearing along to catch trains for people that are
  always a quarter of an hour too late; and if I don’t oblige her in this
  matter it is very likely we shall lose them altogether. What do you say,
  little woman?”
  
  “I say, Jerry,” says she, speaking very slowly, “I say, if Mrs. Briggs
  would give you a sovereign every Sunday morning, I would not have you a
  seven-days’ cabman again. We have known what it was to have no Sundays,
  and now we know what it is to call them our own. Thank God, you earn
  enough to keep us, though it is sometimes close work to pay for all the
  oats and hay, the license, and the rent besides; but Harry will soon be
  earning something, and I would rather struggle on harder than we do than
  go back to those horrid times when you hardly had a minute to look at
  your own children, and we never could go to a place of worship together,
  or have a happy, quiet day. God forbid that we should ever turn back to
  those times; that’s what I say, Jerry.”
  
  “And that is just what I told Mr. Briggs, my dear,” said Jerry, “and
  what I mean to stick to. So don’t go and fret yourself, Polly” (for she
  had begun to cry); “I would not go back to the old times if I earned
  twice as much, so that is settled, little woman. Now, cheer up, and I’ll
  be off to the stand.”
  
  Three weeks had passed away after this conversation, and no order had
  come from Mrs. Briggs; so there was nothing but taking jobs from the
  stand. Jerry took it to heart a good deal, for of course the work was
  harder for horse and man. But Polly would always cheer him up, and say,
  “Never mind, father, never, mind.
  
       “‘Do your best,
       And leave the rest,
       ‘Twill all come right
       Some day or night.’”
  
  It soon became known that Jerry had lost his best customer, and for what
  reason. Most of the men said he was a fool, but two or three took his
  part.
  
  “If workingmen don’t stick to their Sunday,” said Truman, “they’ll soon
  have none left; it is every man’s right and every beast’s right. By
  God’s law we have a day of rest, and by the law of England we have a day
  of rest; and I say we ought to hold to the rights these laws give us and
  keep them for our children.”
  
  “All very well for you religious chaps to talk so,” said Larry; “but
  I’ll turn a shilling when I can. I don’t believe in religion, for I
  don’t see that your religious people are any better than the rest.”
  
  “If they are not better,” put in Jerry, “it is because they are not
  religious. You might as well say that our country’s laws are not good
  because some people break them. If a man gives way to his temper, and
  speaks evil of his neighbor, and does not pay his debts, he is not
  religious, I don’t care how much he goes to church. If some men are
  shams and humbugs, that does not make religion untrue. Real religion is
  the best and truest thing in the world, and the only thing that can make
  a man really happy or make the world we live in any better.”
  
  “If religion was good for anything,” said Jones, “it would prevent your
  religious people from making us work on Sundays, as you know many of
  them do, and that’s why I say religion is nothing but a sham; why, if it
  was not for the church and chapel-goers it would be hardly worth while
  our coming out on a Sunday. But they have their privileges, as they call
  them, and I go without. I shall expect them to answer for my soul, if I
  can’t get a chance of saving it.”
  
  Several of the men applauded this, till Jerry said:
  
  “That may sound well enough, but it won’t do; every man must look
  after his own soul; you can’t lay it down at another man’s door like a
  foundling and expect him to take care of it; and don’t you see, if you
  are always sitting on your box waiting for a fare, they will say, ‘If we
  don’t take him some one else will, and he does not look for any Sunday.’
  Of course, they don’t go to the bottom of it, or they would see if they
  never came for a cab it would be no use your standing there; but
  people don’t always like to go to the bottom of things; it may not be
  convenient to do it; but if you Sunday drivers would all strike for a
  day of rest the thing would be done.”
  
  “And what would all the good people do if they could not get to their
  favorite preachers?” said Larry.
  
  “‘Tis not for me to lay down plans for other people,” said Jerry, “but
  if they can’t walk so far they can go to what is nearer; and if it
  should rain they can put on their mackintoshes as they do on a week-day.
  If a thing is right it can be done, and if it is wrong it can be done
  without; and a good man will find a way. And that is as true for us
  cabmen as it is for the church-goers.”
  
  
  
  
  37 The Golden Rule
  
  
  Two or three weeks after this, as we came into the yard rather late in
  the evening, Polly came running across the road with the lantern (she
  always brought it to him if it was not very wet).
  
  “It has all come right, Jerry; Mrs. Briggs sent her servant this
  afternoon to ask you to take her out to-morrow at eleven o’clock. I
  said, ‘Yes, I thought so, but we supposed she employed some one else
  now.’”
  
  “‘Well,’ said he, ‘the real fact is, master was put out because Mr.
  Barker refused to come on Sundays, and he has been trying other cabs,
  but there’s something wrong with them all; some drive too fast, and some
  too slow, and the mistress says there is not one of them so nice and
  clean as yours, and nothing will suit her but Mr. Barker’s cab again.’”
  
  Polly was almost out of breath, and Jerry broke out into a merry laugh.
  
  “‘’Twill all come right some day or night’: you were right, my dear; you
  generally are. Run in and get the supper, and I’ll have Jack’s harness
  off and make him snug and happy in no time.”
  
  After this Mrs. Briggs wanted Jerry’s cab quite as often as before,
  never, however, on a Sunday; but there came a day when we had Sunday
  work, and this was how it happened. We had all come home on the Saturday
  night very tired, and very glad to think that the next day would be all
  rest, but so it was not to be.
  
  On Sunday morning Jerry was cleaning me in the yard, when Polly stepped
  up to him, looking very full of something.
  
  “What is it?” said Jerry.
  
  “Well, my dear,” she said, “poor Dinah Brown has just had a letter
  brought to say that her mother is dangerously ill, and that she must
  go directly if she wishes to see her alive. The place is more than ten
  miles away from here, out in the country, and she says if she takes the
  train she should still have four miles to walk; and so weak as she is,
  and the baby only four weeks old, of course that would be impossible;
  and she wants to know if you would take her in your cab, and she
  promises to pay you faithfully, as she can get the money.”
  
  “Tut, tut! we’ll see about that. It was not the money I was thinking
  about, but of losing our Sunday; the horses are tired, and I am tired,
  too--that’s where it pinches.”
  
  “It pinches all round, for that matter,” said Polly, “for it’s only
  half Sunday without you, but you know we should do to other people as
  we should like they should do to us; and I know very well what I should
  like if my mother was dying; and Jerry, dear, I am sure it won’t break
  the Sabbath; for if pulling a poor beast or donkey out of a pit would
  not spoil it, I am quite sure taking poor Dinah would not do it.”
  
  “Why, Polly, you are as good as the minister, and so, as I’ve had my
  Sunday-morning sermon early to-day, you may go and tell Dinah that I’ll
  be ready for her as the clock strikes ten; but stop--just step round to
  butcher Braydon’s with my compliments, and ask him if he would lend me
  his light trap; I know he never uses it on the Sunday, and it would make
  a wonderful difference to the horse.”
  
  Away she went, and soon returned, saying that he could have the trap and
  welcome.
  
  “All right,” said he; “now put me up a bit of bread and cheese, and I’ll
  be back in the afternoon as soon as I can.”
  
  “And I’ll have the meat pie ready for an early tea instead of for
  dinner,” said Polly; and away she went, while he made his preparations
  to the tune of “Polly’s the woman and no mistake”, of which tune he was
  very fond.
  
  I was selected for the journey, and at ten o’clock we started, in a
  light, high-wheeled gig, which ran so easily that after the four-wheeled
  cab it seemed like nothing.
  
  It was a fine May day, and as soon as we were out of the town, the sweet
  air, the smell of the fresh grass, and the soft country roads were as
  pleasant as they used to be in the old times, and I soon began to feel
  quite fresh.
  
  Dinah’s family lived in a small farmhouse, up a green lane, close by a
  meadow with some fine shady trees; there were two cows feeding in it.
  A young man asked Jerry to bring his trap into the meadow, and he would
  tie me up in the cowshed; he wished he had a better stable to offer.
  
  “If your cows would not be offended,” said Jerry, “there is nothing my
  horse would like so well as to have an hour or two in your beautiful
  meadow; he’s quiet, and it would be a rare treat for him.”
  
  “Do, and welcome,” said the young man; “the best we have is at your
  service for your kindness to my sister; we shall be having some dinner
  in an hour, and I hope you’ll come in, though with mother so ill we are
  all out of sorts in the house.”
  
  Jerry thanked him kindly, but said as he had some dinner with him there
  was nothing he should like so well as walking about in the meadow.
  
  When my harness was taken off I did not know what I should do
  first--whether to eat the grass, or roll over on my back, or lie down
  and rest, or have a gallop across the meadow out of sheer spirits at
  being free; and I did all by turns. Jerry seemed to be quite as happy
  as I was; he sat down by a bank under a shady tree, and listened to the
  birds, then he sang himself, and read out of the little brown book he is
  so fond of, then wandered round the meadow, and down by a little brook,
  where he picked the flowers and the hawthorn, and tied them up with
  long sprays of ivy; then he gave me a good feed of the oats which he had
  brought with him; but the time seemed all too short--I had not been in a
  field since I left poor Ginger at Earlshall.
  
  We came home gently, and Jerry’s first words were, as we came into the
  yard, “Well, Polly, I have not lost my Sunday after all, for the birds
  were singing hymns in every bush, and I joined in the service; and as
  for Jack, he was like a young colt.”
  
  When he handed Dolly the flowers she jumped about for joy.
  
  
  
  
  38 Dolly and a Real Gentleman
  
  
  Winter came in early, with a great deal of cold and wet. There was snow,
  or sleet, or rain almost every day for weeks, changing only for keen
  driving winds or sharp frosts. The horses all felt it very much. When
  it is a dry cold a couple of good thick rugs will keep the warmth in us;
  but when it is soaking rain they soon get wet through and are no good.
  Some of the drivers had a waterproof cover to throw over, which was a
  fine thing; but some of the men were so poor that they could not protect
  either themselves or their horses, and many of them suffered very much
  that winter. When we horses had worked half the day we went to our dry
  stables, and could rest, while they had to sit on their boxes, sometimes
  staying out as late as one or two o’clock in the morning if they had a
  party to wait for.
  
  When the streets were slippery with frost or snow that was the worst of
  all for us horses. One mile of such traveling, with a weight to draw
  and no firm footing, would take more out of us than four on a good
  road; every nerve and muscle of our bodies is on the strain to keep our
  balance; and, added to this, the fear of falling is more exhausting than
  anything else. If the roads are very bad indeed our shoes are roughed,
  but that makes us feel nervous at first.
  
  When the weather was very bad many of the men would go and sit in the
  tavern close by, and get some one to watch for them; but they often
  lost a fare in that way, and could not, as Jerry said, be there without
  spending money. He never went to the Rising Sun; there was a coffee-shop
  near, where he now and then went, or he bought of an old man, who came
  to our rank with tins of hot coffee and pies. It was his opinion that
  spirits and beer made a man colder afterward, and that dry clothes, good
  food, cheerfulness, and a comfortable wife at home, were the best things
  to keep a cabman warm. Polly always supplied him with something to eat
  when he could not get home, and sometimes he would see little Dolly
  peeping from the corner of the street, to make sure if “father” was on
  the stand. If she saw him she would run off at full speed and soon come
  back with something in a tin or basket, some hot soup or pudding Polly
  had ready. It was wonderful how such a little thing could get safely
  across the street, often thronged with horses and carriages; but she was
  a brave little maid, and felt it quite an honor to bring “father’s first
  course”, as he used to call it. She was a general favorite on the stand,
  and there was not a man who would not have seen her safely across the
  street, if Jerry had not been able to do it.
  
  One cold windy day Dolly had brought Jerry a basin of something hot,
  and was standing by him while he ate it. He had scarcely begun when
  a gentleman, walking toward us very fast, held up his umbrella. Jerry
  touched his hat in return, gave the basin to Dolly, and was taking off
  my cloth, when the gentleman, hastening up, cried out, “No, no, finish
  your soup, my friend; I have not much time to spare, but I can wait
  till you have done, and set your little girl safe on the pavement.” So
  saying, he seated himself in the cab. Jerry thanked him kindly, and came
  back to Dolly.
  
  “There, Dolly, that’s a gentleman; that’s a real gentleman, Dolly; he
  has got time and thought for the comfort of a poor cabman and a little
  girl.”
  
  Jerry finished his soup, set the child across, and then took his orders
  to drive to Clapham Rise. Several times after that the same gentleman
  took our cab. I think he was very fond of dogs and horses, for whenever
  we took him to his own door two or three dogs would come bounding out
  to meet him. Sometimes he came round and patted me, saying in his quiet,
  pleasant way, “This horse has got a good master, and he deserves it.”
   It was a very rare thing for any one to notice the horse that had been
  working for him. I have known ladies to do it now and then, and this
  gentleman, and one or two others have given me a pat and a kind word;
  but ninety-nine persons out of a hundred would as soon think of patting
  the steam engine that drew the train.
  
  The gentleman was not young, and there was a forward stoop in his
  shoulders as if he was always going at something. His lips were thin and
  close shut, though they had a very pleasant smile; his eye was keen, and
  there was something in his jaw and the motion of his head that made one
  think he was very determined in anything he set about. His voice was
  pleasant and kind; any horse would trust that voice, though it was just
  as decided as everything else about him.
  
  One day he and another gentleman took our cab; they stopped at a shop
  in R---- Street, and while his friend went in he stood at the door. A
  little ahead of us on the other side of the street a cart with two very
  fine horses was standing before some wine vaults; the carter was not
  with them, and I cannot tell how long they had been standing, but they
  seemed to think they had waited long enough, and began to move off.
  Before they had gone many paces the carter came running out and caught
  them. He seemed furious at their having moved, and with whip and rein
  punished them brutally, even beating them about the head. Our gentleman
  saw it all, and stepping quickly across the street, said in a decided
  voice:
  
  “If you don’t stop that directly, I’ll have you arrested for leaving
  your horses, and for brutal conduct.”
  
  The man, who had clearly been drinking, poured forth some abusive
  language, but he left off knocking the horses about, and taking the
  reins, got into his cart; meantime our friend had quietly taken a
  note-book from his pocket, and looking at the name and address painted
  on the cart, he wrote something down.
  
  “What do you want with that?” growled the carter, as he cracked his whip
  and was moving on. A nod and a grim smile was the only answer he got.
  
  On returning to the cab our friend was joined by his companion, who said
  laughingly, “I should have thought, Wright, you had enough business of
  your own to look after, without troubling yourself about other people’s
  horses and servants.”
  
  Our friend stood still for a moment, and throwing his head a little
  back, “Do you know why this world is as bad as it is?”
  
  “No,” said the other.
  
  “Then I’ll tell you. It is because people think only about their own
  business, and won’t trouble themselves to stand up for the oppressed,
  nor bring the wrongdoer to light. I never see a wicked thing like this
  without doing what I can, and many a master has thanked me for letting
  him know how his horses have been used.”
  
  “I wish there were more gentlemen like you, sir,” said Jerry, “for they
  are wanted badly enough in this city.”
  
  After this we continued our journey, and as they got out of the cab our
  friend was saying, “My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or
  wrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselves
  sharers in the guilt.”
  
  
  
  
  39 Seedy Sam
  
  
  I should say that for a cab-horse I was very well off indeed; my driver
  was my owner, and it was his interest to treat me well and not overwork
  me, even had he not been so good a man as he was; but there were a great
  many horses which belonged to the large cab-owners, who let them out to
  their drivers for so much money a day. As the horses did not belong to
  these men the only thing they thought of was how to get their money out
  of them, first, to pay the master, and then to provide for their own
  living; and a dreadful time some of these horses had of it. Of course,
  I understood but little, but it was often talked over on the stand,
  and the governor, who was a kind-hearted man and fond of horses, would
  sometimes speak up if one came in very much jaded or ill-used.
  
  One day a shabby, miserable-looking driver, who went by the name of
  “Seedy Sam”, brought in his horse looking dreadfully beat, and the
  governor said:
  
  “You and your horse look more fit for the police station than for this
  rank.”
  
  The man flung his tattered rug over the horse, turned full round upon
  the Governor and said in a voice that sounded almost desperate:
  
  “If the police have any business with the matter it ought to be with the
  masters who charge us so much, or with the fares that are fixed so low.
  If a man has to pay eighteen shillings a day for the use of a cab and
  two horses, as many of us have to do in the season, and must make that
  up before we earn a penny for ourselves I say ‘tis more than hard work;
  nine shillings a day to get out of each horse before you begin to get
  your own living. You know that’s true, and if the horses don’t work we
  must starve, and I and my children have known what that is before now.
  I’ve six of ‘em, and only one earns anything; I am on the stand fourteen
  or sixteen hours a day, and I haven’t had a Sunday these ten or twelve
  weeks; you know Skinner never gives a day if he can help it, and if I
  don’t work hard, tell me who does! I want a warm coat and a mackintosh,
  but with so many to feed how can a man get it? I had to pledge my clock
  a week ago to pay Skinner, and I shall never see it again.”
  
  Some of the other drivers stood round nodding their heads and saying he
  was right. The man went on:
  
  “You that have your own horses and cabs, or drive for good masters, have
  a chance of getting on and a chance of doing right; I haven’t. We can’t
  charge more than sixpence a mile after the first, within the four-mile
  radius. This very morning I had to go a clear six miles and only took
  three shillings. I could not get a return fare, and had to come all the
  way back; there’s twelve miles for the horse and three shillings for me.
  After that I had a three-mile fare, and there were bags and boxes enough
  to have brought in a good many twopences if they had been put outside;
  but you know how people do; all that could be piled up inside on the
  front seat were put in and three heavy boxes went on the top. That
  was sixpence, and the fare one and sixpence; then I got a return for a
  shilling. Now that makes eighteen miles for the horse and six shillings
  for me; there’s three shillings still for that horse to earn and nine
  shillings for the afternoon horse before I touch a penny. Of course, it
  is not always so bad as that, but you know it often is, and I say ‘tis
  a mockery to tell a man that he must not overwork his horse, for when a
  beast is downright tired there’s nothing but the whip that will keep
  his legs a-going; you can’t help yourself--you must put your wife and
  children before the horse; the masters must look to that, we can’t. I
  don’t ill-use my horse for the sake of it; none of you can say I do.
  There’s wrong lays somewhere--never a day’s rest, never a quiet hour
  with the wife and children. I often feel like an old man, though I’m
  only forty-five. You know how quick some of the gentry are to suspect us
  of cheating and overcharging; why, they stand with their purses in
  their hands counting it over to a penny and looking at us as if we were
  pickpockets. I wish some of ‘em had got to sit on my box sixteen hours
  a day and get a living out of it and eighteen shillings beside, and that
  in all weathers; they would not be so uncommon particular never to give
  us a sixpence over or to cram all the luggage inside. Of course, some of
  ‘em tip us pretty handsome now and then, or else we could not live; but
  you can’t depend upon that.”
  
  The men who stood round much approved this speech, and one of them said,
  “It is desperate hard, and if a man sometimes does what is wrong it is
  no wonder, and if he gets a dram too much who’s to blow him up?”
  
  Jerry had taken no part in this conversation, but I never saw his face
  look so sad before. The governor had stood with both his hands in his
  pockets; now he took his handkerchief out of his hat and wiped his
  forehead.
  
  “You’ve beaten me, Sam,” he said, “for it’s all true, and I won’t cast
  it up to you any more about the police; it was the look in that horse’s
  eye that came over me. It is hard lines for man and it is hard lines for
  beast, and who’s to mend it I don’t know: but anyway you might tell
  the poor beast that you were sorry to take it out of him in that way.
  Sometimes a kind word is all we can give ‘em, poor brutes, and ‘tis
  wonderful what they do understand.”
  
  A few mornings after this talk a new man came on the stand with Sam’s
  cab.
  
  “Halloo!” said one, “what’s up with Seedy Sam?”
  
  “He’s ill in bed,” said the man; “he was taken last night in the yard,
  and could scarcely crawl home. His wife sent a boy this morning to
  say his father was in a high fever and could not get out, so I’m here
  instead.”
  
  The next morning the same man came again.
  
  “How is Sam?” inquired the governor.
  
  “He’s gone,” said the man.
  
  “What, gone? You don’t mean to say he’s dead?”
  
  “Just snuffed out,” said the other; “he died at four o’clock this
  morning; all yesterday he was raving--raving about Skinner, and having
  no Sundays. ‘I never had a Sunday’s rest,’ these were his last words.”
  
  No one spoke for a while, and then the governor said, “I’ll tell you
  what, mates, this is a warning for us.”
  
  
  
  
  40 Poor Ginger
  
  
  One day, while our cab and many others were waiting outside one of the
  parks where music was playing, a shabby old cab drove up beside ours.
  The horse was an old worn-out chestnut, with an ill-kept coat, and
  bones that showed plainly through it, the knees knuckled over, and the
  fore-legs were very unsteady. I had been eating some hay, and the wind
  rolled a little lock of it that way, and the poor creature put out her
  long thin neck and picked it up, and then turned and looked about for
  more. There was a hopeless look in the dull eye that I could not help
  noticing, and then, as I was thinking where I had seen that horse
  before, she looked full at me and said, “Black Beauty, is that you?”
  
  It was Ginger! but how changed! The beautifully arched and glossy neck
  was now straight, and lank, and fallen in; the clean straight legs and
  delicate fetlocks were swelled; the joints were grown out of shape with
  hard work; the face, that was once so full of spirit and life, was now
  full of suffering, and I could tell by the heaving of her sides, and her
  frequent cough, how bad her breath was.
  
  Our drivers were standing together a little way off, so I sidled up to
  her a step or two, that we might have a little quiet talk. It was a sad
  tale that she had to tell.
  
  After a twelvemonth’s run off at Earlshall, she was considered to be fit
  for work again, and was sold to a gentleman. For a little while she
  got on very well, but after a longer gallop than usual the old strain
  returned, and after being rested and doctored she was again sold. In
  this way she changed hands several times, but always getting lower down.
  
  “And so at last,” said she, “I was bought by a man who keeps a number of
  cabs and horses, and lets them out. You look well off, and I am glad of
  it, but I could not tell you what my life has been. When they found out
  my weakness they said I was not worth what they gave for me, and that I
  must go into one of the low cabs, and just be used up; that is what
  they are doing, whipping and working with never one thought of what I
  suffer--they paid for me, and must get it out of me, they say. The man
  who hires me now pays a deal of money to the owner every day, and so he
  has to get it out of me too; and so it’s all the week round and round,
  with never a Sunday rest.”
  
  I said, “You used to stand up for yourself if you were ill-used.”
  
  “Ah!” she said, “I did once, but it’s no use; men are strongest, and if
  they are cruel and have no feeling, there is nothing that we can do, but
  just bear it--bear it on and on to the end. I wish the end was come,
  I wish I was dead. I have seen dead horses, and I am sure they do not
  suffer pain; I wish I may drop down dead at my work, and not be sent off
  to the knackers.”
  
  I was very much troubled, and I put my nose up to hers, but I could say
  nothing to comfort her. I think she was pleased to see me, for she said,
  “You are the only friend I ever had.”
  
  Just then her driver came up, and with a tug at her mouth backed her out
  of the line and drove off, leaving me very sad indeed.
  
  A short time after this a cart with a dead horse in it passed our
  cab-stand. The head hung out of the cart-tail, the lifeless tongue was
  slowly dropping with blood; and the sunken eyes! but I can’t speak of
  them, the sight was too dreadful. It was a chestnut horse with a long,
  thin neck. I saw a white streak down the forehead. I believe it was
  Ginger; I hoped it was, for then her troubles would be over. Oh! if men
  were more merciful they would shoot us before we came to such misery.
  
  
  
  
  41 The Butcher
  
  
  I saw a great deal of trouble among the horses in London, and much of
  it might have been prevented by a little common sense. We horses do not
  mind hard work if we are treated reasonably, and I am sure there are
  many driven by quite poor men who have a happier life than I had when I
  used to go in the Countess of W----‘s carriage, with my silver-mounted
  harness and high feeding.
  
  It often went to my heart to see how the little ponies were used,
  straining along with heavy loads or staggering under heavy blows from
  some low, cruel boy. Once I saw a little gray pony with a thick mane
  and a pretty head, and so much like Merrylegs that if I had not been in
  harness I should have neighed to him. He was doing his best to pull a
  heavy cart, while a strong rough boy was cutting him under the belly
  with his whip and chucking cruelly at his little mouth. Could it be
  Merrylegs? It was just like him; but then Mr. Blomefield was never to
  sell him, and I think he would not do it; but this might have been quite
  as good a little fellow, and had as happy a place when he was young.
  
  I often noticed the great speed at which butchers’ horses were made to
  go, though I did not know why it was so till one day when we had to wait
  some time in St. John’s Wood. There was a butcher’s shop next door, and
  as we were standing a butcher’s cart came dashing up at a great pace.
  The horse was hot and much exhausted; he hung his head down, while his
  heaving sides and trembling legs showed how hard he had been driven. The
  lad jumped out of the cart and was getting the basket when the master
  came out of the shop much displeased. After looking at the horse he
  turned angrily to the lad.
  
  “How many times shall I tell you not to drive in this way? You ruined
  the last horse and broke his wind, and you are going to ruin this in the
  same way. If you were not my own son I would dismiss you on the spot;
  it is a disgrace to have a horse brought to the shop in a condition like
  that; you are liable to be taken up by the police for such driving, and
  if you are you need not look to me for bail, for I have spoken to you
  till I’m tired; you must look out for yourself.”
  
  During this speech the boy had stood by, sullen and dogged, but when his
  father ceased he broke out angrily. It wasn’t his fault, and he wouldn’t
  take the blame; he was only going by orders all the time.
  
  “You always say, ‘Now be quick; now look sharp!’ and when I go to the
  houses one wants a leg of mutton for an early dinner and I must be back
  with it in a quarter of an hour; another cook has forgotten to order
  the beef; I must go and fetch it and be back in no time, or the
  mistress will scold; and the housekeeper says they have company coming
  unexpectedly and must have some chops sent up directly; and the lady at
  No. 4, in the Crescent, never orders her dinner till the meat comes
  in for lunch, and it’s nothing but hurry, hurry, all the time. If the
  gentry would think of what they want, and order their meat the day
  before, there need not be this blow up!”
  
  “I wish to goodness they would,” said the butcher; “‘twould save me a
  wonderful deal of harass, and I could suit my customers much better if
  I knew beforehand--But there! what’s the use of talking--who ever thinks
  of a butcher’s convenience or a butcher’s horse! Now, then, take him
  in and look to him well; mind, he does not go out again to-day, and if
  anything else is wanted you must carry it yourself in the basket.” With
  that he went in, and the horse was led away.
  
  But all boys are not cruel. I have seen some as fond of their pony or
  donkey as if it had been a favorite dog, and the little creatures have
  worked away as cheerfully and willingly for their young drivers as I
  work for Jerry. It may be hard work sometimes, but a friend’s hand and
  voice make it easy.
  
  There was a young coster-boy who came up our street with greens and
  potatoes; he had an old pony, not very handsome, but the cheerfullest
  and pluckiest little thing I ever saw, and to see how fond those two
  were of each other was a treat. The pony followed his master like a dog,
  and when he got into his cart would trot off without a whip or a word,
  and rattle down the street as merrily as if he had come out of the
  queen’s stables. Jerry liked the boy, and called him “Prince Charlie”,
  for he said he would make a king of drivers some day.
  
  There was an old man, too, who used to come up our street with a little
  coal cart; he wore a coal-heaver’s hat, and looked rough and black. He
  and his old horse used to plod together along the street, like two good
  partners who understood each other; the horse would stop of his own
  accord at the doors where they took coal of him; he used to keep one ear
  bent toward his master. The old man’s cry could be heard up the street
  long before he came near. I never knew what he said, but the children
  called him “Old Ba-a-ar Hoo”, for it sounded like that. Polly took her
  coal of him, and was very friendly, and Jerry said it was a comfort to
  think how happy an old horse might be in a poor place.
  
  
  
  
  42 The Election
  
  
  As we came into the yard one afternoon Polly came out. “Jerry! I’ve had
  Mr. B---- here asking about your vote, and he wants to hire your cab for
  the election; he will call for an answer.”
  
  “Well, Polly, you may say that my cab will be otherwise engaged. I
  should not like to have it pasted over with their great bills, and as
  to making Jack and Captain race about to the public-houses to bring up
  half-drunken voters, why, I think ‘twould be an insult to the horses.
  No, I shan’t do it.”
  
  “I suppose you’ll vote for the gentleman? He said he was of your
  politics.”
  
  “So he is in some things, but I shall not vote for him, Polly; you know
  what his trade is?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Well, a man who gets rich by that trade may be all very well in some
  ways, but he is blind as to what workingmen want; I could not in my
  conscience send him up to make the laws. I dare say they’ll be angry,
  but every man must do what he thinks to be the best for his country.”
  
  On the morning before the election, Jerry was putting me into the
  shafts, when Dolly came into the yard sobbing and crying, with her
  little blue frock and white pinafore spattered all over with mud.
  
  “Why, Dolly, what is the matter?”
  
  “Those naughty boys,” she sobbed, “have thrown the dirt all over me, and
  called me a little raga--raga--”
  
  “They called her a little ‘blue’ ragamuffin, father,” said Harry, who
  ran in looking very angry; “but I have given it to them; they won’t
  insult my sister again. I have given them a thrashing they will
  remember; a set of cowardly, rascally ‘orange’ blackguards.”
  
  Jerry kissed the child and said, “Run in to mother, my pet, and tell her
  I think you had better stay at home to-day and help her.”
  
  Then turning gravely to Harry:
  
  “My boy, I hope you will always defend your sister, and give anybody who
  insults her a good thrashing--that is as it should be; but mind, I won’t
  have any election blackguarding on my premises. There are as many
  ‘blue’ blackguards as there are ‘orange’, and as many white as there are
  purple, or any other color, and I won’t have any of my family mixed up
  with it. Even women and children are ready to quarrel for the sake of a
  color, and not one in ten of them knows what it is about.”
  
  “Why, father, I thought blue was for Liberty.”
  
  “My boy, Liberty does not come from colors, they only show party, and
  all the liberty you can get out of them is, liberty to get drunk at
  other people’s expense, liberty to ride to the poll in a dirty old cab,
  liberty to abuse any one that does not wear your color, and to shout
  yourself hoarse at what you only half-understand--that’s your liberty!”
  
  “Oh, father, you are laughing.”
  
  “No, Harry, I am serious, and I am ashamed to see how men go on who
  ought to know better. An election is a very serious thing; at least it
  ought to be, and every man ought to vote according to his conscience,
  and let his neighbor do the same.”
  
  
  
  
  43 A Friend in Need
  
  
  The election day came at last; there was no lack of work for Jerry and
  me. First came a stout puffy gentleman with a carpet bag; he wanted to
  go to the Bishopsgate station; then we were called by a party who wished
  to be taken to the Regent’s Park; and next we were wanted in a side
  street where a timid, anxious old lady was waiting to be taken to the
  bank; there we had to stop to take her back again, and just as we had
  set her down a red-faced gentleman, with a handful of papers, came
  running up out of breath, and before Jerry could get down he had opened
  the door, popped himself in, and called out, “Bow Street Police Station,
  quick!” so off we went with him, and when after another turn or two
  we came back, there was no other cab on the stand. Jerry put on my
  nose-bag, for as he said, “We must eat when we can on such days as
  these; so munch away, Jack, and make the best of your time, old boy.”
  
  I found I had a good feed of crushed oats wetted up with a little bran;
  this would be a treat any day, but very refreshing then. Jerry was so
  thoughtful and kind--what horse would not do his best for such a master?
  Then he took out one of Polly’s meat pies, and standing near me, he
  began to eat it. The streets were very full, and the cabs, with the
  candidates’ colors on them, were dashing about through the crowd as if
  life and limb were of no consequence; we saw two people knocked down
  that day, and one was a woman. The horses were having a bad time of it,
  poor things! but the voters inside thought nothing of that; many of them
  were half-drunk, hurrahing out of the cab windows if their own party
  came by. It was the first election I had seen, and I don’t want to be in
  another, though I have heard things are better now.
  
  Jerry and I had not eaten many mouthfuls before a poor young woman,
  carrying a heavy child, came along the street. She was looking this way
  and that way, and seemed quite bewildered. Presently she made her way up
  to Jerry and asked if he could tell her the way to St. Thomas’ Hospital,
  and how far it was to get there. She had come from the country that
  morning, she said, in a market cart; she did not know about the
  election, and was quite a stranger in London. She had got an order for
  the hospital for her little boy. The child was crying with a feeble,
  pining cry.
  
  “Poor little fellow!” she said, “he suffers a deal of pain; he is four
  years old and can’t walk any more than a baby; but the doctor said if I
  could get him into the hospital he might get well; pray, sir, how far is
  it; and which way is it?”
  
  “Why, missis,” said Jerry, “you can’t get there walking through crowds
  like this! why, it is three miles away, and that child is heavy.”
  
  “Yes, bless him, he is; but I am strong, thank God, and if I knew the
  way I think I should get on somehow; please tell me the way.”
  
  “You can’t do it,” said Jerry, “you might be knocked down and the child
  be run over. Now look here, just get into this cab, and I’ll drive you
  safe to the hospital. Don’t you see the rain is coming on?”
  
  “No, sir, no; I can’t do that, thank you, I have only just money enough
  to get back with. Please tell me the way.”
  
  “Look you here, missis,” said Jerry, “I’ve got a wife and dear children
  at home, and I know a father’s feelings; now get you into that cab, and
  I’ll take you there for nothing. I’d be ashamed of myself to let a woman
  and a sick child run a risk like that.”
  
  “Heaven bless you!” said the woman, and burst into tears.
  
  “There, there, cheer up, my dear, I’ll soon take you there; come, let me
  put you inside.”
  
  As Jerry went to open the door two men, with colors in their hats and
  buttonholes, ran up calling out, “Cab!”
  
  “Engaged,” cried Jerry; but one of the men, pushing past the woman,
  sprang into the cab, followed by the other. Jerry looked as stern as a
  policeman. “This cab is already engaged, gentlemen, by that lady.”
  
  “Lady!” said one of them; “oh! she can wait; our business is very
  important, besides we were in first, it is our right, and we shall stay
  in.”
  
  A droll smile came over Jerry’s face as he shut the door upon them. “All
  right, gentlemen, pray stay in as long as it suits you; I can wait while
  you rest yourselves.” And turning his back upon them he walked up to the
  young woman, who was standing near me. “They’ll soon be gone,” he said,
  laughing; “don’t trouble yourself, my dear.”
  
  And they soon were gone, for when they understood Jerry’s dodge they got
  out, calling him all sorts of bad names and blustering about his number
  and getting a summons. After this little stoppage we were soon on our
  way to the hospital, going as much as possible through by-streets. Jerry
  rung the great bell and helped the young woman out.
  
  “Thank you a thousand times,” she said; “I could never have got here
  alone.”
  
  “You’re kindly welcome, and I hope the dear child will soon be better.”
  
  He watched her go in at the door, and gently he said to himself,
  “Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these.” Then he
  patted my neck, which was always his way when anything pleased him.
  
  The rain was now coming down fast, and just as we were leaving the
  hospital the door opened again, and the porter called out, “Cab!” We
  stopped, and a lady came down the steps. Jerry seemed to know her at
  once; she put back her veil and said, “Barker! Jeremiah Barker, is it
  you? I am very glad to find you here; you are just the friend I want,
  for it is very difficult to get a cab in this part of London to-day.”
  
  “I shall be proud to serve you, ma’am; I am right glad I happened to be
  here. Where may I take you to, ma’am?”
  
  “To the Paddington Station, and then if we are in good time, as I think
  we shall be, you shall tell me all about Mary and the children.”
  
  We got to the station in good time, and being under shelter the lady
  stood a good while talking to Jerry. I found she had been Polly’s
  mistress, and after many inquiries about her she said:
  
  “How do you find the cab work suit you in winter? I know Mary was rather
  anxious about you last year.”
  
  “Yes, ma’am, she was; I had a bad cough that followed me up quite into
  the warm weather, and when I am kept out late she does worry herself a
  good deal. You see, ma’am, it is all hours and all weathers, and that
  does try a man’s constitution; but I am getting on pretty well, and I
  should feel quite lost if I had not horses to look after. I was brought
  up to it, and I am afraid I should not do so well at anything else.”
  
  “Well, Barker,” she said, “it would be a great pity that you should
  seriously risk your health in this work, not only for your own but for
  Mary’s and the children’s sake; there are many places where good drivers
  or good grooms are wanted, and if ever you think you ought to give up
  this cab work let me know.”
  
  Then sending some kind messages to Mary she put something into his hand,
  saying, “There is five shillings each for the two children; Mary will
  know how to spend it.”
  
  Jerry thanked her and seemed much pleased, and turning out of the
  station we at last reached home, and I, at least, was tired.
  
  
  
  
  44 Old Captain and His Successor
  
  
  Captain and I were great friends. He was a noble old fellow, and he was
  very good company. I never thought that he would have to leave his home
  and go down the hill; but his turn came, and this was how it happened. I
  was not there, but I heard all about it.
  
  He and Jerry had taken a party to the great railway station over London
  Bridge, and were coming back, somewhere between the bridge and the
  monument, when Jerry saw a brewer’s empty dray coming along, drawn by
  two powerful horses. The drayman was lashing his horses with his heavy
  whip; the dray was light, and they started off at a furious rate; the
  man had no control over them, and the street was full of traffic.
  
  One young girl was knocked down and run over, and the next moment they
  dashed up against our cab; both the wheels were torn off and the cab was
  thrown over. Captain was dragged down, the shafts splintered, and one
  of them ran into his side. Jerry, too, was thrown, but was only bruised;
  nobody could tell how he escaped; he always said ‘twas a miracle. When
  poor Captain was got up he was found to be very much cut and knocked
  about. Jerry led him home gently, and a sad sight it was to see the
  blood soaking into his white coat and dropping from his side and
  shoulder. The drayman was proved to be very drunk, and was fined, and
  the brewer had to pay damages to our master; but there was no one to pay
  damages to poor Captain.
  
  The farrier and Jerry did the best they could to ease his pain and make
  him comfortable. The fly had to be mended, and for several days I did
  not go out, and Jerry earned nothing. The first time we went to the
  stand after the accident the governor came up to hear how Captain was.
  
  “He’ll never get over it,” said Jerry, “at least not for my work, so the
  farrier said this morning. He says he may do for carting, and that sort
  of work. It has put me out very much. Carting, indeed! I’ve seen what
  horses come to at that work round London. I only wish all the drunkards
  could be put in a lunatic asylum instead of being allowed to run foul of
  sober people. If they would break their own bones, and smash their own
  carts, and lame their own horses, that would be their own affair, and
  we might let them alone, but it seems to me that the innocent
  always suffer; and then they talk about compensation! You can’t make
  compensation; there’s all the trouble, and vexation, and loss of time,
  besides losing a good horse that’s like an old friend--it’s nonsense
  talking of compensation! If there’s one devil that I should like to see
  in the bottomless pit more than another, it’s the drink devil.”
  
  “I say, Jerry,” said the governor, “you are treading pretty hard on my
  toes, you know; I’m not so good as you are, more shame to me; I wish I
  was.”
  
  “Well,” said Jerry, “why don’t you cut with it, governor? You are too
  good a man to be the slave of such a thing.”
  
  “I’m a great fool, Jerry, but I tried once for two days, and I thought I
  should have died; how did you do?”
  
  “I had hard work at it for several weeks; you see I never did get drunk,
  but I found that I was not my own master, and that when the craving came
  on it was hard work to say ‘no’. I saw that one of us must knock under,
  the drink devil or Jerry Barker, and I said that it should not be Jerry
  Barker, God helping me; but it was a struggle, and I wanted all the
  help I could get, for till I tried to break the habit I did not know how
  strong it was; but then Polly took such pains that I should have good
  food, and when the craving came on I used to get a cup of coffee, or
  some peppermint, or read a bit in my book, and that was a help to me;
  sometimes I had to say over and over to myself, ‘Give up the drink or
  lose your soul! Give up the drink or break Polly’s heart!’ But thanks be
  to God, and my dear wife, my chains were broken, and now for ten years I
  have not tasted a drop, and never wish for it.”
  
  “I’ve a great mind to try at it,” said Grant, “for ‘tis a poor thing not
  to be one’s own master.”
  
  “Do, governor, do, you’ll never repent it, and what a help it would be
  to some of the poor fellows in our rank if they saw you do without it. I
  know there’s two or three would like to keep out of that tavern if they
  could.”
  
  At first Captain seemed to do well, but he was a very old horse, and it
  was only his wonderful constitution, and Jerry’s care, that had kept
  him up at the cab work so long; now he broke down very much. The farrier
  said he might mend up enough to sell for a few pounds, but Jerry said,
  no! a few pounds got by selling a good old servant into hard work
  and misery would canker all the rest of his money, and he thought the
  kindest thing he could do for the fine old fellow would be to put a sure
  bullet through his head, and then he would never suffer more; for he did
  not know where to find a kind master for the rest of his days.
  
  The day after this was decided Harry took me to the forge for some new
  shoes; when I returned Captain was gone. I and the family all felt it
  very much.
  
  Jerry had now to look out for another horse, and he soon heard of one
  through an acquaintance who was under-groom in a nobleman’s stables. He
  was a valuable young horse, but he had run away, smashed into another
  carriage, flung his lordship out, and so cut and blemished himself that
  he was no longer fit for a gentleman’s stables, and the coachman had
  orders to look round, and sell him as well as he could.
  
  “I can do with high spirits,” said Jerry, “if a horse is not vicious or
  hard-mouthed.”
  
  “There is not a bit of vice in him,” said the man; “his mouth is very
  tender, and I think myself that was the cause of the accident; you see
  he had just been clipped, and the weather was bad, and he had not had
  exercise enough, and when he did go out he was as full of spring as a
  balloon. Our governor (the coachman, I mean) had him harnessed in as
  tight and strong as he could, with the martingale, and the check-rein, a
  very sharp curb, and the reins put in at the bottom bar. It is my belief
  that it made the horse mad, being tender in the mouth and so full of
  spirit.”
  
  “Likely enough; I’ll come and see him,” said Jerry.
  
  The next day Hotspur, that was his name, came home; he was a fine brown
  horse, without a white hair in him, as tall as Captain, with a very
  handsome head, and only five years old. I gave him a friendly greeting
  by way of good fellowship, but did not ask him any questions. The first
  night he was very restless. Instead of lying down, he kept jerking his
  halter rope up and down through the ring, and knocking the block about
  against the manger till I could not sleep. However, the next day, after
  five or six hours in the cab, he came in quiet and sensible. Jerry
  patted and talked to him a good deal, and very soon they understood each
  other, and Jerry said that with an easy bit and plenty of work he would
  be as gentle as a lamb; and that it was an ill wind that blew nobody
  good, for if his lordship had lost a hundred-guinea favorite, the cabman
  had gained a good horse with all his strength in him.
  
  Hotspur thought it a great come-down to be a cab-horse, and was
  disgusted at standing in the rank, but he confessed to me at the end of
  the week that an easy mouth and a free head made up for a great deal,
  and after all, the work was not so degrading as having one’s head and
  tail fastened to each other at the saddle. In fact, he settled in well,
  and Jerry liked him very much.
  
  
  
  
  45 Jerry’s New Year
  
  
  For some people Christmas and the New Year are very merry times; but for
  cabmen and cabmen’s horses it is no holiday, though it may be a harvest.
  There are so many parties, balls, and places of amusement open that the
  work is hard and often late. Sometimes driver and horse have to wait
  for hours in the rain or frost, shivering with the cold, while the merry
  people within are dancing away to the music. I wonder if the beautiful
  ladies ever think of the weary cabman waiting on his box, and his
  patient beast standing, till his legs get stiff with cold.
  
  I had now most of the evening work, as I was well accustomed to
  standing, and Jerry was also more afraid of Hotspur taking cold. We had
  a great deal of late work in the Christmas week, and Jerry’s cough was
  bad; but however late we were, Polly sat up for him, and came out with a
  lantern to meet him, looking anxious and troubled.
  
  On the evening of the New Year we had to take two gentlemen to a house
  in one of the West End Squares. We set them down at nine o’clock, and
  were told to come again at eleven, “but,” said one, “as it is a card
  party, you may have to wait a few minutes, but don’t be late.”
  
  As the clock struck eleven we were at the door, for Jerry was always
  punctual. The clock chimed the quarters, one, two, three, and then
  struck twelve, but the door did not open.
  
  The wind had been very changeable, with squalls of rain during the day,
  but now it came on sharp, driving sleet, which seemed to come all the
  way round; it was very cold, and there was no shelter. Jerry got off
  his box and came and pulled one of my cloths a little more over my neck;
  then he took a turn or two up and down, stamping his feet; then he began
  to beat his arms, but that set him off coughing; so he opened the cab
  door and sat at the bottom with his feet on the pavement, and was a
  little sheltered. Still the clock chimed the quarters, and no one came.
  At half-past twelve he rang the bell and asked the servant if he would
  be wanted that night.
  
  “Oh, yes, you’ll be wanted safe enough,” said the man; “you must not go,
  it will soon be over,” and again Jerry sat down, but his voice was so
  hoarse I could hardly hear him.
  
  At a quarter past one the door opened, and the two gentlemen came out;
  they got into the cab without a word, and told Jerry where to drive,
  that was nearly two miles. My legs were numb with cold, and I thought
  I should have stumbled. When the men got out they never said they were
  sorry to have kept us waiting so long, but were angry at the charge;
  however, as Jerry never charged more than was his due, so he never took
  less, and they had to pay for the two hours and a quarter waiting; but
  it was hard-earned money to Jerry.
  
  At last we got home; he could hardly speak, and his cough was dreadful.
  Polly asked no questions, but opened the door and held the lantern for
  him.
  
  “Can’t I do something?” she said.
  
  “Yes; get Jack something warm, and then boil me some gruel.”
  
  This was said in a hoarse whisper; he could hardly get his breath, but
  he gave me a rub-down as usual, and even went up into the hayloft for an
  extra bundle of straw for my bed. Polly brought me a warm mash that made
  me comfortable, and then they locked the door.
  
  It was late the next morning before any one came, and then it was only
  Harry. He cleaned us and fed us, and swept out the stalls, then he put
  the straw back again as if it was Sunday. He was very still, and neither
  whistled nor sang. At noon he came again and gave us our food and water;
  this time Dolly came with him; she was crying, and I could gather from
  what they said that Jerry was dangerously ill, and the doctor said it
  was a bad case. So two days passed, and there was great trouble indoors.
  We only saw Harry, and sometimes Dolly. I think she came for company,
  for Polly was always with Jerry, and he had to be kept very quiet.
  
  On the third day, while Harry was in the stable, a tap came at the door,
  and Governor Grant came in.
  
  “I wouldn’t go to the house, my boy,” he said, “but I want to know how
  your father is.”
  
  “He is very bad,” said Harry, “he can’t be much worse; they call
  it ‘bronchitis’; the doctor thinks it will turn one way or another
  to-night.”
  
  “That’s bad, very bad,” said Grant, shaking his head; “I know two men
  who died of that last week; it takes ‘em off in no time; but while
  there’s life there’s hope, so you must keep up your spirits.”
  
  “Yes,” said Harry quickly, “and the doctor said that father had a better
  chance than most men, because he didn’t drink. He said yesterday the
  fever was so high that if father had been a drinking man it would have
  burned him up like a piece of paper; but I believe he thinks he will get
  over it; don’t you think he will, Mr. Grant?”
  
  The governor looked puzzled.
  
  “If there’s any rule that good men should get over these things, I’m
  sure he will, my boy; he’s the best man I know. I’ll look in early
  to-morrow.”
  
  Early next morning he was there.
  
  “Well?” said he.
  
  “Father is better,” said Harry. “Mother hopes he will get over it.”
  
  “Thank God!” said the governor, “and now you must keep him warm, and
  keep his mind easy, and that brings me to the horses; you see Jack will
  be all the better for the rest of a week or two in a warm stable, and
  you can easily take him a turn up and down the street to stretch his
  legs; but this young one, if he does not get work, he will soon be all
  up on end, as you may say, and will be rather too much for you; and when
  he does go out there’ll be an accident.”
  
  “It is like that now,” said Harry. “I have kept him short of corn, but
  he’s so full of spirit I don’t know what to do with him.”
  
  “Just so,” said Grant. “Now look here, will you tell your mother that
  if she is agreeable I will come for him every day till something is
  arranged, and take him for a good spell of work, and whatever he earns,
  I’ll bring your mother half of it, and that will help with the horses’
  feed. Your father is in a good club, I know, but that won’t keep the
  horses, and they’ll be eating their heads off all this time; I’ll come
  at noon and hear what she says,” and without waiting for Harry’s thanks
  he was gone.
  
  At noon I think he went and saw Polly, for he and Harry came to the
  stable together, harnessed Hotspur, and took him out.
  
  For a week or more he came for Hotspur, and when Harry thanked him or
  said anything about his kindness, he laughed it off, saying it was all
  good luck for him, for his horses were wanting a little rest which they
  would not otherwise have had.
  
  Jerry grew better steadily, but the doctor said that he must never go
  back to the cab work again if he wished to be an old man. The children
  had many consultations together about what father and mother would do,
  and how they could help to earn money.
  
  One afternoon Hotspur was brought in very wet and dirty.
  
  “The streets are nothing but slush,” said the governor; “it will give
  you a good warming, my boy, to get him clean and dry.”
  
  “All right, governor,” said Harry, “I shall not leave him till he is;
  you know I have been trained by my father.”
  
  “I wish all the boys had been trained like you,” said the governor.
  
  While Harry was sponging off the mud from Hotspur’s body and legs Dolly
  came in, looking very full of something.
  
  “Who lives at Fairstowe, Harry? Mother has got a letter from Fairstowe;
  she seemed so glad, and ran upstairs to father with it.”
  
  “Don’t you know? Why, it is the name of Mrs. Fowler’s place--mother’s
  old mistress, you know--the lady that father met last summer, who sent
  you and me five shillings each.”
  
  “Oh! Mrs. Fowler. Of course, I know all about her. I wonder what she is
  writing to mother about.”
  
  “Mother wrote to her last week,” said Harry; “you know she told father
  if ever he gave up the cab work she would like to know. I wonder what
  she says; run in and see, Dolly.”
  
  Harry scrubbed away at Hotspur with a huish! huish! like any old
  hostler. In a few minutes Dolly came dancing into the stable.
  
  “Oh! Harry, there never was anything so beautiful; Mrs. Fowler says we
  are all to go and live near her. There is a cottage now empty that
  will just suit us, with a garden and a henhouse, and apple-trees, and
  everything! and her coachman is going away in the spring, and then she
  will want father in his place; and there are good families round, where
  you can get a place in the garden or the stable, or as a page-boy;
  and there’s a good school for me; and mother is laughing and crying by
  turns, and father does look so happy!”
  
  “That’s uncommon jolly,” said Harry, “and just the right thing, I should
  say; it will suit father and mother both; but I don’t intend to be a
  page-boy with tight clothes and rows of buttons. I’ll be a groom or a
  gardener.”
  
  It was quickly settled that as soon as Jerry was well enough they should
  remove to the country, and that the cab and horses should be sold as
  soon as possible.
  
  This was heavy news for me, for I was not young now, and could not look
  for any improvement in my condition. Since I left Birtwick I had never
  been so happy as with my dear master Jerry; but three years of cab work,
  even under the best conditions, will tell on one’s strength, and I felt
  that I was not the horse that I had been.
  
  Grant said at once that he would take Hotspur, and there were men on the
  stand who would have bought me; but Jerry said I should not go to cab
  work again with just anybody, and the governor promised to find a place
  for me where I should be comfortable.
  
  The day came for going away. Jerry had not been allowed to go out yet,
  and I never saw him after that New Year’s eve. Polly and the children
  came to bid me good-by. “Poor old Jack! dear old Jack! I wish we could
  take you with us,” she said, and then laying her hand on my mane she put
  her face close to my neck and kissed me. Dolly was crying and kissed
  me too. Harry stroked me a great deal, but said nothing, only he seemed
  very sad, and so I was led away to my new place.
  
  
  
  
  Part IV
  
  
  
  
  46 Jakes and the Lady
  
  
  I was sold to a corn dealer and baker, whom Jerry knew, and with him he
  thought I should have good food and fair work. In the first he was quite
  right, and if my master had always been on the premises I do not think
  I should have been overloaded, but there was a foreman who was always
  hurrying and driving every one, and frequently when I had quite a full
  load he would order something else to be taken on. My carter, whose name
  was Jakes, often said it was more than I ought to take, but the other
  always overruled him. “‘Twas no use going twice when once would do, and
  he chose to get business forward.”
  
  Jakes, like the other carters, always had the check-rein up, which
  prevented me from drawing easily, and by the time I had been there three
  or four months I found the work telling very much on my strength.
  
  One day I was loaded more than usual, and part of the road was a steep
  uphill. I used all my strength, but I could not get on, and was obliged
  continually to stop. This did not please my driver, and he laid his whip
  on badly. “Get on, you lazy fellow,” he said, “or I’ll make you.”
  
  Again I started the heavy load, and struggled on a few yards; again the
  whip came down, and again I struggled forward. The pain of that great
  cart whip was sharp, but my mind was hurt quite as much as my poor
  sides. To be punished and abused when I was doing my very best was
  so hard it took the heart out of me. A third time he was flogging me
  cruelly, when a lady stepped quickly up to him, and said in a sweet,
  earnest voice:
  
  “Oh! pray do not whip your good horse any more; I am sure he is doing
  all he can, and the road is very steep; I am sure he is doing his best.”
  
  “If doing his best won’t get this load up he must do something more than
  his best; that’s all I know, ma’am,” said Jakes.
  
  “But is it not a heavy load?” she said.
  
  “Yes, yes, too heavy,” he said; “but that’s not my fault; the foreman
  came just as we were starting, and would have three hundredweight more
  put on to save him trouble, and I must get on with it as well as I can.”
  
  He was raising the whip again, when the lady said:
  
  “Pray, stop; I think I can help you if you will let me.”
  
  The man laughed.
  
  “You see,” she said, “you do not give him a fair chance; he cannot use
  all his power with his head held back as it is with that check-rein; if
  you would take it off I am sure he would do better--do try it,” she said
  persuasively, “I should be very glad if you would.”
  
  “Well, well,” said Jakes, with a short laugh, “anything to please a
  lady, of course. How far would you wish it down, ma’am?”
  
  “Quite down, give him his head altogether.”
  
  The rein was taken off, and in a moment I put my head down to my very
  knees. What a comfort it was! Then I tossed it up and down several times
  to get the aching stiffness out of my neck.
  
  “Poor fellow! that is what you wanted,” said she, patting and stroking
  me with her gentle hand; “and now if you will speak kindly to him and
  lead him on I believe he will be able to do better.”
  
  Jakes took the rein. “Come on, Blackie.” I put down my head, and threw
  my whole weight against the collar; I spared no strength; the load
  moved on, and I pulled it steadily up the hill, and then stopped to take
  breath.
  
  The lady had walked along the footpath, and now came across into the
  road. She stroked and patted my neck, as I had not been patted for many
  a long day.
  
  “You see he was quite willing when you gave him the chance; I am sure he
  is a fine-tempered creature, and I dare say has known better days. You
  won’t put that rein on again, will you?” for he was just going to hitch
  it up on the old plan.
  
  “Well, ma’am, I can’t deny that having his head has helped him up the
  hill, and I’ll remember it another time, and thank you, ma’am; but if
  he went without a check-rein I should be the laughing-stock of all the
  carters; it is the fashion, you see.”
  
  “Is it not better,” she said, “to lead a good fashion than to follow a
  bad one? A great many gentlemen do not use check-reins now; our carriage
  horses have not worn them for fifteen years, and work with much less
  fatigue than those who have them; besides,” she added in a very serious
  voice, “we have no right to distress any of God’s creatures without a
  very good reason; we call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they
  cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they
  have no words. But I must not detain you now; I thank you for trying
  my plan with your good horse, and I am sure you will find it far better
  than the whip. Good-day,” and with another soft pat on my neck she
  stepped lightly across the path, and I saw her no more.
  
  “That was a real lady, I’ll be bound for it,” said Jakes to himself;
  “she spoke just as polite as if I was a gentleman, and I’ll try her
  plan, uphill, at any rate;” and I must do him the justice to say that
  he let my rein out several holes, and going uphill after that, he always
  gave me my head; but the heavy loads went on. Good feed and fair rest
  will keep up one’s strength under full work, but no horse can stand
  against overloading; and I was getting so thoroughly pulled down from
  this cause that a younger horse was bought in my place. I may as well
  mention here what I suffered at this time from another cause. I had
  heard horses speak of it, but had never myself had experience of the
  evil; this was a badly-lighted stable; there was only one very small
  window at the end, and the consequence was that the stalls were almost
  dark.
  
  Besides the depressing effect this had on my spirits, it very much
  weakened my sight, and when I was suddenly brought out of the darkness
  into the glare of daylight it was very painful to my eyes. Several times
  I stumbled over the threshold, and could scarcely see where I was going.
  
  I believe, had I stayed there very long, I should have become purblind,
  and that would have been a great misfortune, for I have heard men say
  that a stone-blind horse was safer to drive than one which had imperfect
  sight, as it generally makes them very timid. However, I escaped without
  any permanent injury to my sight, and was sold to a large cab owner.
  
  
  
  
  47 Hard Times
  
  
  My new master I shall never forget; he had black eyes and a hooked nose,
  his mouth was as full of teeth as a bull-dog’s, and his voice was as
  harsh as the grinding of cart wheels over graveled stones. His name was
  Nicholas Skinner, and I believe he was the man that poor Seedy Sam drove
  for.
  
  I have heard men say that seeing is believing; but I should say that
  feeling is believing; for much as I had seen before, I never knew till
  now the utter misery of a cab-horse’s life.
  
  Skinner had a low set of cabs and a low set of drivers; he was hard on
  the men, and the men were hard on the horses. In this place we had no
  Sunday rest, and it was in the heat of summer.
  
  Sometimes on a Sunday morning a party of fast men would hire the cab for
  the day; four of them inside and another with the driver, and I had to
  take them ten or fifteen miles out into the country, and back again;
  never would any of them get down to walk up a hill, let it be ever
  so steep, or the day ever so hot--unless, indeed, when the driver was
  afraid I should not manage it, and sometimes I was so fevered and worn
  that I could hardly touch my food. How I used to long for the nice bran
  mash with niter in it that Jerry used to give us on Saturday nights in
  hot weather, that used to cool us down and make us so comfortable.
  Then we had two nights and a whole day for unbroken rest, and on Monday
  morning we were as fresh as young horses again; but here there was no
  rest, and my driver was just as hard as his master. He had a cruel whip
  with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and he
  would even whip me under the belly, and flip the lash out at my head.
  Indignities like these took the heart out of me terribly, but still I
  did my best and never hung back; for, as poor Ginger said, it was no
  use; men are the strongest.
  
  My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger,
  drop down dead at my work and be out of my misery, and one day my wish
  very nearly came to pass.
  
  I went on the stand at eight in the morning, and had done a good share
  of work, when we had to take a fare to the railway. A long train was
  just expected in, so my driver pulled up at the back of some of the
  outside cabs to take the chance of a return fare. It was a very heavy
  train, and as all the cabs were soon engaged ours was called for. There
  was a party of four; a noisy, blustering man with a lady, a little boy
  and a young girl, and a great deal of luggage. The lady and the boy got
  into the cab, and while the man ordered about the luggage the young girl
  came and looked at me.
  
  “Papa,” she said, “I am sure this poor horse cannot take us and all our
  luggage so far, he is so very weak and worn up. Do look at him.”
  
  “Oh! he’s all right, miss,” said my driver, “he’s strong enough.”
  
  The porter, who was pulling about some heavy boxes, suggested to the
  gentleman, as there was so much luggage, whether he would not take a
  second cab.
  
  “Can your horse do it, or can’t he?” said the blustering man.
  
  “Oh! he can do it all right, sir; send up the boxes, porter; he could
  take more than that;” and he helped to haul up a box so heavy that I
  could feel the springs go down.
  
  “Papa, papa, do take a second cab,” said the young girl in a beseeching
  tone. “I am sure we are wrong, I am sure it is very cruel.”
  
  “Nonsense, Grace, get in at once, and don’t make all this fuss; a pretty
  thing it would be if a man of business had to examine every cab-horse
  before he hired it--the man knows his own business of course; there, get
  in and hold your tongue!”
  
  My gentle friend had to obey, and box after box was dragged up and
  lodged on the top of the cab or settled by the side of the driver. At
  last all was ready, and with his usual jerk at the rein and slash of the
  whip he drove out of the station.
  
  The load was very heavy and I had had neither food nor rest since
  morning; but I did my best, as I always had done, in spite of cruelty
  and injustice.
  
  I got along fairly till we came to Ludgate Hill; but there the heavy
  load and my own exhaustion were too much. I was struggling to keep on,
  goaded by constant chucks of the rein and use of the whip, when in a
  single moment--I cannot tell how--my feet slipped from under me, and I
  fell heavily to the ground on my side; the suddenness and the force
  with which I fell seemed to beat all the breath out of my body. I lay
  perfectly still; indeed, I had no power to move, and I thought now I was
  going to die. I heard a sort of confusion round me, loud, angry voices,
  and the getting down of the luggage, but it was all like a dream. I
  thought I heard that sweet, pitiful voice saying, “Oh! that poor horse!
  it is all our fault.” Some one came and loosened the throat strap of
  my bridle, and undid the traces which kept the collar so tight upon me.
  Some one said, “He’s dead, he’ll never get up again.” Then I could hear
  a policeman giving orders, but I did not even open my eyes; I could only
  draw a gasping breath now and then. Some cold water was thrown over
  my head, and some cordial was poured into my mouth, and something was
  covered over me. I cannot tell how long I lay there, but I found my life
  coming back, and a kind-voiced man was patting me and encouraging me to
  rise. After some more cordial had been given me, and after one or two
  attempts, I staggered to my feet, and was gently led to some stables
  which were close by. Here I was put into a well-littered stall, and some
  warm gruel was brought to me, which I drank thankfully.
  
  In the evening I was sufficiently recovered to be led back to Skinner’s
  stables, where I think they did the best for me they could. In the
  morning Skinner came with a farrier to look at me. He examined me very
  closely and said:
  
  “This is a case of overwork more than disease, and if you could give him
  a run off for six months he would be able to work again; but now there
  is not an ounce of strength left in him.”
  
  “Then he must just go to the dogs,” said Skinner. “I have no meadows to
  nurse sick horses in--he might get well or he might not; that sort of
  thing don’t suit my business; my plan is to work ‘em as long as they’ll
  go, and then sell ‘em for what they’ll fetch, at the knacker’s or
  elsewhere.”
  
  “If he was broken-winded,” said the farrier, “you had better have him
  killed out of hand, but he is not; there is a sale of horses coming off
  in about ten days; if you rest him and feed him up he may pick up, and
  you may get more than his skin is worth, at any rate.”
  
  Upon this advice Skinner, rather unwillingly, I think, gave orders that
  I should be well fed and cared for, and the stable man, happily for me,
  carried out the orders with a much better will than his master had in
  giving them. Ten days of perfect rest, plenty of good oats, hay,
  bran mashes, with boiled linseed mixed in them, did more to get up my
  condition than anything else could have done; those linseed mashes were
  delicious, and I began to think, after all, it might be better to live
  than go to the dogs. When the twelfth day after the accident came, I
  was taken to the sale, a few miles out of London. I felt that any change
  from my present place must be an improvement, so I held up my head, and
  hoped for the best.
  
  
  
  
  48 Farmer Thoroughgood and His Grandson Willie
  
  
  At this sale, of course I found myself in company with the old
  broken-down horses--some lame, some broken-winded, some old, and some
  that I am sure it would have been merciful to shoot.
  
  The buyers and sellers, too, many of them, looked not much better off
  than the poor beasts they were bargaining about. There were poor old
  men, trying to get a horse or a pony for a few pounds, that might drag
  about some little wood or coal cart. There were poor men trying to sell
  a worn-out beast for two or three pounds, rather than have the greater
  loss of killing him. Some of them looked as if poverty and hard times
  had hardened them all over; but there were others that I would have
  willingly used the last of my strength in serving; poor and shabby, but
  kind and human, with voices that I could trust. There was one tottering
  old man who took a great fancy to me, and I to him, but I was not strong
  enough--it was an anxious time! Coming from the better part of the fair,
  I noticed a man who looked like a gentleman farmer, with a young boy by
  his side; he had a broad back and round shoulders, a kind, ruddy face,
  and he wore a broad-brimmed hat. When he came up to me and my companions
  he stood still and gave a pitiful look round upon us. I saw his eye
  rest on me; I had still a good mane and tail, which did something for my
  appearance. I pricked my ears and looked at him.
  
  “There’s a horse, Willie, that has known better days.”
  
  “Poor old fellow!” said the boy, “do you think, grandpapa, he was ever a
  carriage horse?”
  
  “Oh, yes! my boy,” said the farmer, coming closer, “he might have been
  anything when he was young; look at his nostrils and his ears, the shape
  of his neck and shoulder; there’s a deal of breeding about that horse.”
   He put out his hand and gave me a kind pat on the neck. I put out my
  nose in answer to his kindness; the boy stroked my face.
  
  “Poor old fellow! see, grandpapa, how well he understands kindness.
  Could not you buy him and make him young again as you did with
  Ladybird?”
  
  “My dear boy, I can’t make all old horses young; besides, Ladybird was
  not so very old, as she was run down and badly used.”
  
  “Well, grandpapa, I don’t believe that this one is old; look at his mane
  and tail. I wish you would look into his mouth, and then you could tell;
  though he is so very thin, his eyes are not sunk like some old horses’.”
  
  The old gentleman laughed. “Bless the boy! he is as horsey as his old
  grandfather.”
  
  “But do look at his mouth, grandpapa, and ask the price; I am sure he
  would grow young in our meadows.”
  
  The man who had brought me for sale now put in his word.
  
  “The young gentleman’s a real knowing one, sir. Now the fact is, this
  ‘ere hoss is just pulled down with overwork in the cabs; he’s not an old
  one, and I heerd as how the vetenary should say, that a six months’ run
  off would set him right up, being as how his wind was not broken.
  I’ve had the tending of him these ten days past, and a gratefuller,
  pleasanter animal I never met with, and ‘twould be worth a gentleman’s
  while to give a five-pound note for him, and let him have a chance. I’ll
  be bound he’d be worth twenty pounds next spring.”
  
  The old gentleman laughed, and the little boy looked up eagerly.
  
  “Oh, grandpapa, did you not say the colt sold for five pounds more than
  you expected? You would not be poorer if you did buy this one.”
  
  The farmer slowly felt my legs, which were much swelled and strained;
  then he looked at my mouth. “Thirteen or fourteen, I should say; just
  trot him out, will you?”
  
  I arched my poor thin neck, raised my tail a little, and threw out my
  legs as well as I could, for they were very stiff.
  
  “What is the lowest you will take for him?” said the farmer as I came
  back.
  
  “Five pounds, sir; that was the lowest price my master set.”
  
  “‘Tis a speculation,” said the old gentleman, shaking his head, but at
  the same time slowly drawing out his purse, “quite a speculation! Have
  you any more business here?” he said, counting the sovereigns into his
  hand.
  
  “No, sir, I can take him for you to the inn, if you please.”
  
  “Do so, I am now going there.”
  
  They walked forward, and I was led behind. The boy could hardly control
  his delight, and the old gentleman seemed to enjoy his pleasure. I had a
  good feed at the inn, and was then gently ridden home by a servant of my
  new master’s, and turned into a large meadow with a shed in one corner
  of it.
  
  Mr. Thoroughgood, for that was the name of my benefactor, gave orders
  that I should have hay and oats every night and morning, and the run of
  the meadow during the day, and, “you, Willie,” said he, “must take the
  oversight of him; I give him in charge to you.”
  
  The boy was proud of his charge, and undertook it in all seriousness.
  There was not a day when he did not pay me a visit; sometimes picking
  me out from among the other horses, and giving me a bit of carrot, or
  something good, or sometimes standing by me while I ate my oats. He
  always came with kind words and caresses, and of course I grew very fond
  of him. He called me Old Crony, as I used to come to him in the field
  and follow him about. Sometimes he brought his grandfather, who always
  looked closely at my legs.
  
  “This is our point, Willie,” he would say; “but he is improving so
  steadily that I think we shall see a change for the better in the
  spring.”
  
  The perfect rest, the good food, the soft turf, and gentle exercise,
  soon began to tell on my condition and my spirits. I had a good
  constitution from my mother, and I was never strained when I was young,
  so that I had a better chance than many horses who have been worked
  before they came to their full strength. During the winter my legs
  improved so much that I began to feel quite young again. The spring came
  round, and one day in March Mr. Thoroughgood determined that he would
  try me in the phaeton. I was well pleased, and he and Willie drove me a
  few miles. My legs were not stiff now, and I did the work with perfect
  ease.
  
  “He’s growing young, Willie; we must give him a little gentle work now,
  and by mid-summer he will be as good as Ladybird. He has a beautiful
  mouth and good paces; they can’t be better.”
  
  “Oh, grandpapa, how glad I am you bought him!”
  
  “So am I, my boy; but he has to thank you more than me; we must now
  be looking out for a quiet, genteel place for him, where he will be
  valued.”
  
  
  
  
  49 My Last Home
  
  
  One day during this summer the groom cleaned and dressed me with such
  extraordinary care that I thought some new change must be at hand; he
  trimmed my fetlocks and legs, passed the tarbrush over my hoofs, and
  even parted my forelock. I think the harness had an extra polish. Willie
  seemed half-anxious, half-merry, as he got into the chaise with his
  grandfather.
  
  “If the ladies take to him,” said the old gentleman, “they’ll be suited
  and he’ll be suited. We can but try.”
  
  At the distance of a mile or two from the village we came to a pretty,
  low house, with a lawn and shrubbery at the front and a drive up to the
  door. Willie rang the bell, and asked if Miss Blomefield or Miss Ellen
  was at home. Yes, they were. So, while Willie stayed with me, Mr.
  Thoroughgood went into the house. In about ten minutes he returned,
  followed by three ladies; one tall, pale lady, wrapped in a white shawl,
  leaned on a younger lady, with dark eyes and a merry face; the other,
  a very stately-looking person, was Miss Blomefield. They all came
  and looked at me and asked questions. The younger lady--that was Miss
  Ellen--took to me very much; she said she was sure she should like me, I
  had such a good face. The tall, pale lady said that she should always
  be nervous in riding behind a horse that had once been down, as I might
  come down again, and if I did she should never get over the fright.
  
  “You see, ladies,” said Mr. Thoroughgood, “many first-rate horses have
  had their knees broken through the carelessness of their drivers without
  any fault of their own, and from what I see of this horse I should say
  that is his case; but of course I do not wish to influence you. If you
  incline you can have him on trial, and then your coachman will see what
  he thinks of him.”
  
  “You have always been such a good adviser to us about our horses,” said
  the stately lady, “that your recommendation would go a long way with me,
  and if my sister Lavinia sees no objection we will accept your offer of
  a trial, with thanks.”
  
  It was then arranged that I should be sent for the next day.
  
  In the morning a smart-looking young man came for me. At first he looked
  pleased; but when he saw my knees he said in a disappointed voice:
  
  “I didn’t think, sir, you would have recommended my ladies a blemished
  horse like that.”
  
  “‘Handsome is that handsome does’,” said my master; “you are only taking
  him on trial, and I am sure you will do fairly by him, young man. If he
  is not as safe as any horse you ever drove send him back.”
  
  I was led to my new home, placed in a comfortable stable, fed, and left
  to myself. The next day, when the groom was cleaning my face, he said:
  
  “That is just like the star that ‘Black Beauty’ had; he is much the same
  height, too. I wonder where he is now.”
  
  A little further on he came to the place in my neck where I was bled and
  where a little knot was left in the skin. He almost started, and began
  to look me over carefully, talking to himself.
  
  “White star in the forehead, one white foot on the off side, this little
  knot just in that place;” then looking at the middle of my back--“and,
  as I am alive, there is that little patch of white hair that John used
  to call ‘Beauty’s three-penny bit’. It must be ‘Black Beauty’! Why,
  Beauty! Beauty! do you know me?--little Joe Green, that almost killed
  you?” And he began patting and patting me as if he was quite overjoyed.
  
  I could not say that I remembered him, for now he was a fine grown young
  fellow, with black whiskers and a man’s voice, but I was sure he knew
  me, and that he was Joe Green, and I was very glad. I put my nose up
  to him, and tried to say that we were friends. I never saw a man so
  pleased.
  
  “Give you a fair trial! I should think so indeed! I wonder who the
  rascal was that broke your knees, my old Beauty! you must have been
  badly served out somewhere; well, well, it won’t be my fault if you
  haven’t good times of it now. I wish John Manly was here to see you.”
  
  In the afternoon I was put into a low park chair and brought to the
  door. Miss Ellen was going to try me, and Green went with her. I soon
  found that she was a good driver, and she seemed pleased with my paces.
  I heard Joe telling her about me, and that he was sure I was Squire
  Gordon’s old “Black Beauty”.
  
  When we returned the other sisters came out to hear how I had behaved
  myself. She told them what she had just heard, and said:
  
  “I shall certainly write to Mrs. Gordon, and tell her that her favorite
  horse has come to us. How pleased she will be!”
  
  After this I was driven every day for a week or so, and as I appeared
  to be quite safe, Miss Lavinia at last ventured out in the small close
  carriage. After this it was quite decided to keep me and call me by my
  old name of “Black Beauty”.
  
  I have now lived in this happy place a whole year. Joe is the best and
  kindest of grooms. My work is easy and pleasant, and I feel my strength
  and spirits all coming back again. Mr. Thoroughgood said to Joe the
  other day:
  
  “In your place he will last till he is twenty years old--perhaps more.”
  
  Willie always speaks to me when he can, and treats me as his special
  friend. My ladies have promised that I shall never be sold, and so I
  have nothing to fear; and here my story ends. My troubles are all over,
  and I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still
  in the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the
  apple-trees.
  