"Part I\n\n\n01 My Early Home\n\n\nThe first place that I can well remember was a large pleasant meadow\nwith a pond of clear water in it. Some shady trees leaned over it, and\nrushes and water-lilies grew at the deep end. Over the hedge on one side\nwe looked into a plowed field, and on the other we looked over a gate\nat our master's house, which stood by the roadside; at the top of the\nmeadow was a grove of fir trees, and at the bottom a running brook\noverhung by a steep bank.\n\nWhile I was young I lived upon my mother's milk, as I could not eat\ngrass. In the daytime I ran by her side, and at night I lay down close\nby her. When it was hot we used to stand by the pond in the shade of the\ntrees, and when it was cold we had a nice warm shed near the grove.\n\nAs soon as I was old enough to eat grass my mother used to go out to\nwork in the daytime, and come back in the evening.\n\nThere were six young colts in the meadow besides me; they were older\nthan I was; some were nearly as large as grown-up horses. I used to run\nwith them, and had great fun; we used to gallop all together round and\nround the field as hard as we could go. Sometimes we had rather rough\nplay, for they would frequently bite and kick as well as gallop.\n\nOne day, when there was a good deal of kicking, my mother whinnied to me\nto come to her, and then she said:\n\n\"I wish you to pay attention to what I am going to say to you. The colts\nwho live here are very good colts, but they are cart-horse colts, and\nof course they have not learned manners. You have been well-bred\nand well-born; your father has a great name in these parts, and\nyour grandfather won the cup two years at the Newmarket races; your\ngrandmother had the sweetest temper of any horse I ever knew, and I\nthink you have never seen me kick or bite. I hope you will grow up\ngentle and good, and never learn bad ways; do your work with a good\nwill, lift your feet up well when you trot, and never bite or kick even\nin play.\"\n\nI have never forgotten my mother's advice; I knew she was a wise old\nhorse, and our master thought a great deal of her. Her name was Duchess,\nbut he often called her Pet.\n\nOur master was a good, kind man. He gave us good food, good lodging, and\nkind words; he spoke as kindly to us as he did to his little children.\nWe were all fond of him, and my mother loved him very much. When she saw\nhim at the gate she would neigh with joy, and trot up to him. He would\npat and stroke her and say, \"Well, old Pet, and how is your little\nDarkie?\" I was a dull black, so he called me Darkie; then he would give\nme a piece of bread, which was very good, and sometimes he brought a\ncarrot for my mother. All the horses would come to him, but I think we\nwere his favorites. My mother always took him to the town on a market\nday in a light gig.\n\nThere was a plowboy, Dick, who sometimes came into our field to pluck\nblackberries from the hedge. When he had eaten all he wanted he would\nhave what he called fun with the colts, throwing stones and sticks at\nthem to make them gallop. We did not much mind him, for we could gallop\noff; but sometimes a stone would hit and hurt us.\n\nOne day he was at this game, and did not know that the master was in the\nnext field; but he was there, watching what was going on; over the hedge\nhe jumped in a snap, and catching Dick by the arm, he gave him such a\nbox on the ear as made him roar with the pain and surprise. As soon as\nwe saw the master we trotted up nearer to see what went on.\n\n\"Bad boy!\" he said, \"bad boy! to chase the colts. This is not the first\ntime, nor the second, but it shall be the last. There--take your money\nand go home; I shall not want you on my farm again.\" So we never saw\nDick any more. Old Daniel, the man who looked after the horses, was just\nas gentle as our master, so we were well off.\n\n\n\n\n02 The Hunt\n\n\nBefore I was two years old a circumstance happened which I have never\nforgotten. It was early in the spring; there had been a little frost in\nthe night, and a light mist still hung over the woods and meadows. I\nand the other colts were feeding at the lower part of the field when\nwe heard, quite in the distance, what sounded like the cry of dogs. The\noldest of the colts raised his head, pricked his ears, and said, \"There\nare the hounds!\" and immediately cantered off, followed by the rest of\nus to the upper part of the field, where we could look over the hedge\nand see several fields beyond. My mother and an old riding horse of our\nmaster's were also standing near, and seemed to know all about it.\n\n\"They have found a hare,\" said my mother, \"and if they come this way we\nshall see the hunt.\"\n\nAnd soon the dogs were all tearing down the field of young wheat next\nto ours. I never heard such a noise as they made. They did not bark, nor\nhowl, nor whine, but kept on a \"yo! yo, o, o! yo! yo, o, o!\" at the top\nof their voices. After them came a number of men on horseback, some of\nthem in green coats, all galloping as fast as they could. The old horse\nsnorted and looked eagerly after them, and we young colts wanted to be\ngalloping with them, but they were soon away into the fields lower\ndown; here it seemed as if they had come to a stand; the dogs left off\nbarking, and ran about every way with their noses to the ground.\n\n\"They have lost the scent,\" said the old horse; \"perhaps the hare will\nget off.\"\n\n\"What hare?\" I said.\n\n\"Oh! I don't know what hare; likely enough it may be one of our own\nhares out of the woods; any hare they can find will do for the dogs and\nmen to run after;\" and before long the dogs began their \"yo! yo, o, o!\"\nagain, and back they came altogether at full speed, making straight for\nour meadow at the part where the high bank and hedge overhang the brook.\n\n\"Now we shall see the hare,\" said my mother; and just then a hare wild\nwith fright rushed by and made for the woods. On came the dogs; they\nburst over the bank, leaped the stream, and came dashing across the\nfield followed by the huntsmen. Six or eight men leaped their horses\nclean over, close upon the dogs. The hare tried to get through the\nfence; it was too thick, and she turned sharp round to make for the\nroad, but it was too late; the dogs were upon her with their wild cries;\nwe heard one shriek, and that was the end of her. One of the huntsmen\nrode up and whipped off the dogs, who would soon have torn her to\npieces. He held her up by the leg torn and bleeding, and all the\ngentlemen seemed well pleased.\n\nAs for me, I was so astonished that I did not at first see what was\ngoing on by the brook; but when I did look there was a sad sight; two\nfine horses were down, one was struggling in the stream, and the other\nwas groaning on the grass. One of the riders was getting out of the\nwater covered with mud, the other lay quite still.\n\n\"His neck is broke,\" said my mother.\n\n\"And serve him right, too,\" said one of the colts.\n\nI thought the same, but my mother did not join with us.\n\n\"Well, no,\" she said, \"you must not say that; but though I am an old\nhorse, and have seen and heard a great deal, I never yet could make out\nwhy men are so fond of this sport; they often hurt themselves, often\nspoil good horses, and tear up the fields, and all for a hare or a fox,\nor a stag, that they could get more easily some other way; but we are\nonly horses, and don't know.\"\n\nWhile my mother was saying this we stood and looked on. Many of the\nriders had gone to the young man; but my master, who had been watching\nwhat was going on, was the first to raise him. His head fell back and\nhis arms hung down, and every one looked very serious. There was no\nnoise now; even the dogs were quiet, and seemed to know that something\nwas wrong. They carried him to our master's house. I heard afterward\nthat it was young George Gordon, the squire's only son, a fine, tall\nyoung man, and the pride of his family.\n\nThere was now riding off in all directions to the doctor's, to the\nfarrier's, and no doubt to Squire Gordon's, to let him know about his\nson. When Mr. Bond, the farrier, came to look at the black horse that\nlay groaning on the grass, he felt him all over, and shook his head; one\nof his legs was broken. Then some one ran to our master's house and came\nback with a gun; presently there was a loud bang and a dreadful shriek,\nand then all was still; the black horse moved no more.\n\nMy mother seemed much troubled; she said she had known that horse for\nyears, and that his name was \"Rob Roy\"; he was a good horse, and\nthere was no vice in him. She never would go to that part of the field\nafterward.\n\nNot many days after we heard the church-bell tolling for a long time,\nand looking over the gate we saw a long, strange black coach that was\ncovered with black cloth and was drawn by black horses; after that came\nanother and another and another, and all were black, while the bell kept\ntolling, tolling. They were carrying young Gordon to the churchyard to\nbury him. He would never ride again. What they did with Rob Roy I never\nknew; but 'twas all for one little hare.\n\n\n\n\n03 My Breaking In\n\n\nI was now beginning to grow handsome; my coat had grown fine and soft,\nand was bright black. I had one white foot and a pretty white star on my\nforehead. I was thought very handsome; my master would not sell me till\nI was four years old; he said lads ought not to work like men, and colts\nought not to work like horses till they were quite grown up.\n\nWhen I was four years old Squire Gordon came to look at me. He examined\nmy eyes, my mouth, and my legs; he felt them all down; and then I had\nto walk and trot and gallop before him. He seemed to like me, and said,\n\"When he has been well broken in he will do very well.\" My master said\nhe would break me in himself, as he should not like me to be frightened\nor hurt, and he lost no time about it, for the next day he began.\n\nEvery one may not know what breaking in is, therefore I will describe\nit. It means to teach a horse to wear a saddle and bridle, and to carry\non his back a man, woman or child; to go just the way they wish, and to\ngo quietly. Besides this he has to learn to wear a collar, a crupper,\nand a breeching, and to stand still while they are put on; then to have\na cart or a chaise fixed behind, so that he cannot walk or trot without\ndragging it after him; and he must go fast or slow, just as his driver\nwishes. He must never start at what he sees, nor speak to other horses,\nnor bite, nor kick, nor have any will of his own; but always do his\nmaster's will, even though he may be very tired or hungry; but the worst\nof all is, when his harness is once on, he may neither jump for joy nor\nlie down for weariness. So you see this breaking in is a great thing.\n\nI had of course long been used to a halter and a headstall, and to be\nled about in the fields and lanes quietly, but now I was to have a bit\nand bridle; my master gave me some oats as usual, and after a good deal\nof coaxing he got the bit into my mouth, and the bridle fixed, but it\nwas a nasty thing! Those who have never had a bit in their mouths cannot\nthink how bad it feels; a great piece of cold hard steel as thick as\na man's finger to be pushed into one's mouth, between one's teeth, and\nover one's tongue, with the ends coming out at the corner of your mouth,\nand held fast there by straps over your head, under your throat, round\nyour nose, and under your chin; so that no way in the world can you get\nrid of the nasty hard thing; it is very bad! yes, very bad! at least I\nthought so; but I knew my mother always wore one when she went out, and\nall horses did when they were grown up; and so, what with the nice oats,\nand what with my master's pats, kind words, and gentle ways, I got to\nwear my bit and bridle.\n\nNext came the saddle, but that was not half so bad; my master put it\non my back very gently, while old Daniel held my head; he then made the\ngirths fast under my body, patting and talking to me all the time; then\nI had a few oats, then a little leading about; and this he did every\nday till I began to look for the oats and the saddle. At length, one\nmorning, my master got on my back and rode me round the meadow on the\nsoft grass. It certainly did feel queer; but I must say I felt rather\nproud to carry my master, and as he continued to ride me a little every\nday I soon became accustomed to it.\n\nThe next unpleasant business was putting on the iron shoes; that too was\nvery hard at first. My master went with me to the smith's forge, to see\nthat I was not hurt or got any fright. The blacksmith took my feet in\nhis hand, one after the other, and cut away some of the hoof. It did not\npain me, so I stood still on three legs till he had done them all. Then\nhe took a piece of iron the shape of my foot, and clapped it on, and\ndrove some nails through the shoe quite into my hoof, so that the shoe\nwas firmly on. My feet felt very stiff and heavy, but in time I got used\nto it.\n\nAnd now having got so far, my master went on to break me to harness;\nthere were more new things to wear. First, a stiff heavy collar just\non my neck, and a bridle with great side-pieces against my eyes called\nblinkers, and blinkers indeed they were, for I could not see on either\nside, but only straight in front of me; next, there was a small saddle\nwith a nasty stiff strap that went right under my tail; that was the\ncrupper. I hated the crupper; to have my long tail doubled up and poked\nthrough that strap was almost as bad as the bit. I never felt more like\nkicking, but of course I could not kick such a good master, and so\nin time I got used to everything, and could do my work as well as my\nmother.\n\nI must not forget to mention one part of my training, which I have\nalways considered a very great advantage. My master sent me for a\nfortnight to a neighboring farmer's, who had a meadow which was skirted\non one side by the railway. Here were some sheep and cows, and I was\nturned in among them.\n\nI shall never forget the first train that ran by. I was feeding quietly\nnear the pales which separated the meadow from the railway, when I heard\na strange sound at a distance, and before I knew whence it came--with\na rush and a clatter, and a puffing out of smoke--a long black train of\nsomething flew by, and was gone almost before I could draw my breath. I\nturned and galloped to the further side of the meadow as fast as I could\ngo, and there I stood snorting with astonishment and fear. In the course\nof the day many other trains went by, some more slowly; these drew up\nat the station close by, and sometimes made an awful shriek and groan\nbefore they stopped. I thought it very dreadful, but the cows went\non eating very quietly, and hardly raised their heads as the black\nfrightful thing came puffing and grinding past.\n\nFor the first few days I could not feed in peace; but as I found that\nthis terrible creature never came into the field, or did me any harm, I\nbegan to disregard it, and very soon I cared as little about the passing\nof a train as the cows and sheep did.\n\nSince then I have seen many horses much alarmed and restive at the sight\nor sound of a steam engine; but thanks to my good master's care, I am as\nfearless at railway stations as in my own stable.\n\nNow if any one wants to break in a young horse well, that is the way.\n\nMy master often drove me in double harness with my mother, because she\nwas steady and could teach me how to go better than a strange horse. She\ntold me the better I behaved the better I should be treated, and that\nit was wisest always to do my best to please my master; \"but,\" said she,\n\"there are a great many kinds of men; there are good thoughtful men like\nour master, that any horse may be proud to serve; and there are bad,\ncruel men, who never ought to have a horse or dog to call their own.\nBesides, there are a great many foolish men, vain, ignorant, and\ncareless, who never trouble themselves to think; these spoil more horses\nthan all, just for want of sense; they don't mean it, but they do it for\nall that. I hope you will fall into good hands; but a horse never knows\nwho may buy him, or who may drive him; it is all a chance for us; but\nstill I say, do your best wherever it is, and keep up your good name.\"\n\n\n\n\n04 Birtwick Park\n\n\nAt this time I used to stand in the stable and my coat was brushed every\nday till it shone like a rook's wing. It was early in May, when there\ncame a man from Squire Gordon's, who took me away to the hall. My master\nsaid, \"Good-by, Darkie; be a good horse, and always do your best.\" I\ncould not say \"good-by\", so I put my nose into his hand; he patted me\nkindly, and I left my first home. As I lived some years with Squire\nGordon, I may as well tell something about the place.\n\nSquire Gordon's park skirted the village of Birtwick. It was entered by\na large iron gate, at which stood the first lodge, and then you trotted\nalong on a smooth road between clumps of large old trees; then another\nlodge and another gate, which brought you to the house and the gardens.\nBeyond this lay the home paddock, the old orchard, and the stables.\nThere was accommodation for many horses and carriages; but I need only\ndescribe the stable into which I was taken; this was very roomy, with\nfour good stalls; a large swinging window opened into the yard, which\nmade it pleasant and airy.\n\nThe first stall was a large square one, shut in behind with a wooden\ngate; the others were common stalls, good stalls, but not nearly so\nlarge; it had a low rack for hay and a low manger for corn; it was\ncalled a loose box, because the horse that was put into it was not tied\nup, but left loose, to do as he liked. It is a great thing to have a\nloose box.\n\nInto this fine box the groom put me; it was clean, sweet, and airy. I\nnever was in a better box than that, and the sides were not so high but\nthat I could see all that went on through the iron rails that were at\nthe top.\n\nHe gave me some very nice oats, he patted me, spoke kindly, and then\nwent away.\n\nWhen I had eaten my corn I looked round. In the stall next to mine stood\na little fat gray pony, with a thick mane and tail, a very pretty head,\nand a pert little nose.\n\nI put my head up to the iron rails at the top of my box, and said, \"How\ndo you do? What is your name?\"\n\nHe turned round as far as his halter would allow, held up his head,\nand said, \"My name is Merrylegs. I am very handsome; I carry the young\nladies on my back, and sometimes I take our mistress out in the low\nchair. They think a great deal of me, and so does James. Are you going\nto live next door to me in the box?\"\n\nI said, \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" he said, \"I hope you are good-tempered; I do not like any\none next door who bites.\"\n\nJust then a horse's head looked over from the stall beyond; the ears\nwere laid back, and the eye looked rather ill-tempered. This was a tall\nchestnut mare, with a long handsome neck. She looked across to me and\nsaid:\n\n\"So it is you who have turned me out of my box; it is a very strange\nthing for a colt like you to come and turn a lady out of her own home.\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon,\" I said, \"I have turned no one out; the man who\nbrought me put me here, and I had nothing to do with it; and as to my\nbeing a colt, I am turned four years old and am a grown-up horse. I\nnever had words yet with horse or mare, and it is my wish to live at\npeace.\"\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"we shall see. Of course, I do not want to have words\nwith a young thing like you.\" I said no more.\n\nIn the afternoon, when she went out, Merrylegs told me all about it.\n\n\"The thing is this,\" said Merrylegs. \"Ginger has a bad habit of biting\nand snapping; that is why they call her Ginger, and when she was in the\nloose box she used to snap very much. One day she bit James in the arm\nand made it bleed, and so Miss Flora and Miss Jessie, who are very fond\nof me, were afraid to come into the stable. They used to bring me nice\nthings to eat, an apple or a carrot, or a piece of bread, but after\nGinger stood in that box they dared not come, and I missed them very\nmuch. I hope they will now come again, if you do not bite or snap.\"\n\nI told him I never bit anything but grass, hay, and corn, and could not\nthink what pleasure Ginger found it.\n\n\"Well, I don't think she does find pleasure,\" says Merrylegs; \"it is\njust a bad habit; she says no one was ever kind to her, and why should\nshe not bite? Of course, it is a very bad habit; but I am sure, if all\nshe says be true, she must have been very ill-used before she came here.\nJohn does all he can to please her, and James does all he can, and our\nmaster never uses a whip if a horse acts right; so I think she might be\ngood-tempered here. You see,\" he said, with a wise look, \"I am twelve\nyears old; I know a great deal, and I can tell you there is not a better\nplace for a horse all round the country than this. John is the best\ngroom that ever was; he has been here fourteen years; and you never saw\nsuch a kind boy as James is; so that it is all Ginger's own fault that\nshe did not stay in that box.\"\n\n\n\n\n05 A Fair Start\n\n\nThe name of the coachman was John Manly; he had a wife and one little\nchild, and they lived in the coachman's cottage, very near the stables.\n\nThe next morning he took me into the yard and gave me a good grooming,\nand just as I was going into my box, with my coat soft and bright, the\nsquire came in to look at me, and seemed pleased. \"John,\" he said,\n\"I meant to have tried the new horse this morning, but I have other\nbusiness. You may as well take him around after breakfast; go by the\ncommon and the Highwood, and back by the watermill and the river; that\nwill show his paces.\"\n\n\"I will, sir,\" said John. After breakfast he came and fitted me with a\nbridle. He was very particular in letting out and taking in the straps,\nto fit my head comfortably; then he brought a saddle, but it was not\nbroad enough for my back; he saw it in a minute and went for another,\nwhich fitted nicely. He rode me first slowly, then a trot, then a\ncanter, and when we were on the common he gave me a light touch with his\nwhip, and we had a splendid gallop.\n\n\"Ho, ho! my boy,\" he said, as he pulled me up, \"you would like to follow\nthe hounds, I think.\"\n\nAs we came back through the park we met the Squire and Mrs. Gordon\nwalking; they stopped, and John jumped off.\n\n\"Well, John, how does he go?\"\n\n\"First-rate, sir,\" answered John; \"he is as fleet as a deer, and has a\nfine spirit too; but the lightest touch of the rein will guide him. Down\nat the end of the common we met one of those traveling carts hung all\nover with baskets, rugs, and such like; you know, sir, many horses will\nnot pass those carts quietly; he just took a good look at it, and then\nwent on as quiet and pleasant as could be. They were shooting rabbits\nnear the Highwood, and a gun went off close by; he pulled up a little\nand looked, but did not stir a step to right or left. I just held the\nrein steady and did not hurry him, and it's my opinion he has not been\nfrightened or ill-used while he was young.\"\n\n\"That's well,\" said the squire, \"I will try him myself to-morrow.\"\n\nThe next day I was brought up for my master. I remembered my mother's\ncounsel and my good old master's, and I tried to do exactly what he\nwanted me to do. I found he was a very good rider, and thoughtful for\nhis horse too. When he came home the lady was at the hall door as he\nrode up.\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" she said, \"how do you like him?\"\n\n\"He is exactly what John said,\" he replied; \"a pleasanter creature I\nnever wish to mount. What shall we call him?\"\n\n\"Would you like Ebony?\" said she; \"he is as black as ebony.\"\n\n\"No, not Ebony.\"\n\n\"Will you call him Blackbird, like your uncle's old horse?\"\n\n\"No, he is far handsomer than old Blackbird ever was.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"he is really quite a beauty, and he has such a sweet,\ngood-tempered face, and such a fine, intelligent eye--what do you say to\ncalling him Black Beauty?\"\n\n\"Black Beauty--why, yes, I think that is a very good name. If you like\nit shall be his name;\" and so it was.\n\nWhen John went into the stable he told James that master and mistress\nhad chosen a good, sensible English name for me, that meant something;\nnot like Marengo, or Pegasus, or Abdallah. They both laughed, and James\nsaid, \"If it was not for bringing back the past, I should have named him\nRob Roy, for I never saw two horses more alike.\"\n\n\"That's no wonder,\" said John; \"didn't you know that Farmer Grey's old\nDuchess was the mother of them both?\"\n\nI had never heard that before; and so poor Rob Roy who was killed\nat that hunt was my brother! I did not wonder that my mother was so\ntroubled. It seems that horses have no relations; at least they never\nknow each other after they are sold.\n\nJohn seemed very proud of me; he used to make my mane and tail almost as\nsmooth as a lady's hair, and he would talk to me a great deal; of course\nI did not understand all he said, but I learned more and more to know\nwhat he meant, and what he wanted me to do. I grew very fond of him, he\nwas so gentle and kind; he seemed to know just how a horse feels, and\nwhen he cleaned me he knew the tender places and the ticklish places;\nwhen he brushed my head he went as carefully over my eyes as if they\nwere his own, and never stirred up any ill-temper.\n\nJames Howard, the stable boy, was just as gentle and pleasant in his\nway, so I thought myself well off. There was another man who helped in\nthe yard, but he had very little to do with Ginger and me.\n\nA few days after this I had to go out with Ginger in the carriage. I\nwondered how we should get on together; but except laying her ears\nback when I was led up to her, she behaved very well. She did her work\nhonestly, and did her full share, and I never wish to have a better\npartner in double harness. When we came to a hill, instead of slackening\nher pace, she would throw her weight right into the collar, and pull\naway straight up. We had both the same sort of courage at our work, and\nJohn had oftener to hold us in than to urge us forward; he never had to\nuse the whip with either of us; then our paces were much the same, and\nI found it very easy to keep step with her when trotting, which made it\npleasant, and master always liked it when we kept step well, and so did\nJohn. After we had been out two or three times together we grew quite\nfriendly and sociable, which made me feel very much at home.\n\nAs for Merrylegs, he and I soon became great friends; he was such a\ncheerful, plucky, good-tempered little fellow that he was a favorite\nwith every one, and especially with Miss Jessie and Flora, who used to\nride him about in the orchard, and have fine games with him and their\nlittle dog Frisky.\n\nOur master had two other horses that stood in another stable. One was\nJustice, a roan cob, used for riding or for the luggage cart; the other\nwas an old brown hunter, named Sir Oliver; he was past work now, but was\na great favorite with the master, who gave him the run of the park; he\nsometimes did a little light carting on the estate, or carried one of\nthe young ladies when they rode out with their father, for he was very\ngentle and could be trusted with a child as well as Merrylegs. The cob\nwas a strong, well-made, good-tempered horse, and we sometimes had a\nlittle chat in the paddock, but of course I could not be so intimate\nwith him as with Ginger, who stood in the same stable.\n\n\n\n\n06 Liberty\n\n\nI was quite happy in my new place, and if there was one thing that I\nmissed it must not be thought I was discontented; all who had to do with\nme were good and I had a light airy stable and the best of food. What\nmore could I want? Why, liberty! For three years and a half of my life\nI had had all the liberty I could wish for; but now, week after week,\nmonth after month, and no doubt year after year, I must stand up in a\nstable night and day except when I am wanted, and then I must be just\nas steady and quiet as any old horse who has worked twenty years. Straps\nhere and straps there, a bit in my mouth, and blinkers over my eyes.\nNow, I am not complaining, for I know it must be so. I only mean to say\nthat for a young horse full of strength and spirits, who has been used\nto some large field or plain where he can fling up his head and toss up\nhis tail and gallop away at full speed, then round and back again with\na snort to his companions--I say it is hard never to have a bit more\nliberty to do as you like. Sometimes, when I have had less exercise than\nusual, I have felt so full of life and spring that when John has taken\nme out to exercise I really could not keep quiet; do what I would, it\nseemed as if I must jump, or dance, or prance, and many a good shake I\nknow I must have given him, especially at the first; but he was always\ngood and patient.\n\n\"Steady, steady, my boy,\" he would say; \"wait a bit, and we will have a\ngood swing, and soon get the tickle out of your feet.\" Then as soon as\nwe were out of the village, he would give me a few miles at a spanking\ntrot, and then bring me back as fresh as before, only clear of the\nfidgets, as he called them. Spirited horses, when not enough exercised,\nare often called skittish, when it is only play; and some grooms will\npunish them, but our John did not; he knew it was only high spirits.\nStill, he had his own ways of making me understand by the tone of\nhis voice or the touch of the rein. If he was very serious and quite\ndetermined, I always knew it by his voice, and that had more power with\nme than anything else, for I was very fond of him.\n\nI ought to say that sometimes we had our liberty for a few hours; this\nused to be on fine Sundays in the summer-time. The carriage never went\nout on Sundays, because the church was not far off.\n\nIt was a great treat to us to be turned out into the home paddock or\nthe old orchard; the grass was so cool and soft to our feet, the air so\nsweet, and the freedom to do as we liked was so pleasant--to gallop, to\nlie down, and roll over on our backs, or to nibble the sweet grass.\nThen it was a very good time for talking, as we stood together under the\nshade of the large chestnut tree.\n\n\n\n\n07 Ginger\n\n\nOne day when Ginger and I were standing alone in the shade, we had a\ngreat deal of talk; she wanted to know all about my bringing up and\nbreaking in, and I told her.\n\n\"Well,\" said she, \"if I had had your bringing up I might have had as\ngood a temper as you, but now I don't believe I ever shall.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" I said.\n\n\"Because it has been all so different with me,\" she replied. \"I never\nhad any one, horse or man, that was kind to me, or that I cared to\nplease, for in the first place I was taken from my mother as soon as I\nwas weaned, and put with a lot of other young colts; none of them cared\nfor me, and I cared for none of them. There was no kind master like\nyours to look after me, and talk to me, and bring me nice things to eat.\nThe man that had the care of us never gave me a kind word in my life.\nI do not mean that he ill-used me, but he did not care for us one\nbit further than to see that we had plenty to eat, and shelter in the\nwinter. A footpath ran through our field, and very often the great boys\npassing through would fling stones to make us gallop. I was never hit,\nbut one fine young colt was badly cut in the face, and I should think\nit would be a scar for life. We did not care for them, but of course\nit made us more wild, and we settled it in our minds that boys were our\nenemies. We had very good fun in the free meadows, galloping up and down\nand chasing each other round and round the field; then standing still\nunder the shade of the trees. But when it came to breaking in, that was\na bad time for me; several men came to catch me, and when at last they\nclosed me in at one corner of the field, one caught me by the forelock,\nanother caught me by the nose and held it so tight I could hardly draw\nmy breath; then another took my under jaw in his hard hand and wrenched\nmy mouth open, and so by force they got on the halter and the bar into\nmy mouth; then one dragged me along by the halter, another flogging\nbehind, and this was the first experience I had of men's kindness; it\nwas all force. They did not give me a chance to know what they wanted.\nI was high bred and had a great deal of spirit, and was very wild, no\ndoubt, and gave them, I dare say, plenty of trouble, but then it was\ndreadful to be shut up in a stall day after day instead of having my\nliberty, and I fretted and pined and wanted to get loose. You know\nyourself it's bad enough when you have a kind master and plenty of\ncoaxing, but there was nothing of that sort for me.\n\n\"There was one--the old master, Mr. Ryder--who, I think, could soon have\nbrought me round, and could have done anything with me; but he had given\nup all the hard part of the trade to his son and to another experienced\nman, and he only came at times to oversee. His son was a strong, tall,\nbold man; they called him Samson, and he used to boast that he had never\nfound a horse that could throw him. There was no gentleness in him, as\nthere was in his father, but only hardness, a hard voice, a hard eye, a\nhard hand; and I felt from the first that what he wanted was to wear all\nthe spirit out of me, and just make me into a quiet, humble, obedient\npiece of horseflesh. 'Horseflesh'! Yes, that is all that he thought\nabout,\" and Ginger stamped her foot as if the very thought of him made\nher angry. Then she went on:\n\n\"If I did not do exactly what he wanted he would get put out, and make\nme run round with that long rein in the training field till he had\ntired me out. I think he drank a good deal, and I am quite sure that the\noftener he drank the worse it was for me. One day he had worked me hard\nin every way he could, and when I lay down I was tired, and miserable,\nand angry; it all seemed so hard. The next morning he came for me early,\nand ran me round again for a long time. I had scarcely had an hour's\nrest, when he came again for me with a saddle and bridle and a new kind\nof bit. I could never quite tell how it came about; he had only just\nmounted me on the training ground, when something I did put him out\nof temper, and he chucked me hard with the rein. The new bit was very\npainful, and I reared up suddenly, which angered him still more, and he\nbegan to flog me. I felt my whole spirit set against him, and I began\nto kick, and plunge, and rear as I had never done before, and we had a\nregular fight; for a long time he stuck to the saddle and punished me\ncruelly with his whip and spurs, but my blood was thoroughly up, and I\ncared for nothing he could do if only I could get him off. At last after\na terrible struggle I threw him off backward. I heard him fall heavily\non the turf, and without looking behind me, I galloped off to the other\nend of the field; there I turned round and saw my persecutor slowly\nrising from the ground and going into the stable. I stood under an oak\ntree and watched, but no one came to catch me. The time went on, and the\nsun was very hot; the flies swarmed round me and settled on my bleeding\nflanks where the spurs had dug in. I felt hungry, for I had not eaten\nsince the early morning, but there was not enough grass in that meadow\nfor a goose to live on. I wanted to lie down and rest, but with the\nsaddle strapped tightly on there was no comfort, and there was not a\ndrop of water to drink. The afternoon wore on, and the sun got low. I\nsaw the other colts led in, and I knew they were having a good feed.\n\n\"At last, just as the sun went down, I saw the old master come out with\na sieve in his hand. He was a very fine old gentleman with quite white\nhair, but his voice was what I should know him by among a thousand. It\nwas not high, nor yet low, but full, and clear, and kind, and when\nhe gave orders it was so steady and decided that every one knew, both\nhorses and men, that he expected to be obeyed. He came quietly along,\nnow and then shaking the oats about that he had in the sieve, and\nspeaking cheerfully and gently to me: 'Come along, lassie, come along,\nlassie; come along, come along.' I stood still and let him come up; he\nheld the oats to me, and I began to eat without fear; his voice took all\nmy fear away. He stood by, patting and stroking me while I was eating,\nand seeing the clots of blood on my side he seemed very vexed. 'Poor\nlassie! it was a bad business, a bad business;' then he quietly took the\nrein and led me to the stable; just at the door stood Samson. I laid my\nears back and snapped at him. 'Stand back,' said the master, 'and keep\nout of her way; you've done a bad day's work for this filly.' He growled\nout something about a vicious brute. 'Hark ye,' said the father, 'a\nbad-tempered man will never make a good-tempered horse. You've not\nlearned your trade yet, Samson.' Then he led me into my box, took off\nthe saddle and bridle with his own hands, and tied me up; then he called\nfor a pail of warm water and a sponge, took off his coat, and while the\nstable-man held the pail, he sponged my sides a good while, so tenderly\nthat I was sure he knew how sore and bruised they were. 'Whoa! my pretty\none,' he said, 'stand still, stand still.' His very voice did me good,\nand the bathing was very comfortable. The skin was so broken at the\ncorners of my mouth that I could not eat the hay, the stalks hurt me. He\nlooked closely at it, shook his head, and told the man to fetch a good\nbran mash and put some meal into it. How good that mash was! and so soft\nand healing to my mouth. He stood by all the time I was eating, stroking\nme and talking to the man. 'If a high-mettled creature like this,'\nsaid he, 'can't be broken by fair means, she will never be good for\nanything.'\n\n\"After that he often came to see me, and when my mouth was healed the\nother breaker, Job, they called him, went on training me; he was steady\nand thoughtful, and I soon learned what he wanted.\"\n\n\n\n\n08 Ginger's Story Continued\n\n\nThe next time that Ginger and I were together in the paddock she told me\nabout her first place.\n\n\"After my breaking in,\" she said, \"I was bought by a dealer to match\nanother chestnut horse. For some weeks he drove us together, and then we\nwere sold to a fashionable gentleman, and were sent up to London. I had\nbeen driven with a check-rein by the dealer, and I hated it worse\nthan anything else; but in this place we were reined far tighter, the\ncoachman and his master thinking we looked more stylish so. We were\noften driven about in the park and other fashionable places. You who\nnever had a check-rein on don't know what it is, but I can tell you it\nis dreadful.\n\n\"I like to toss my head about and hold it as high as any horse; but\nfancy now yourself, if you tossed your head up high and were obliged to\nhold it there, and that for hours together, not able to move it at all,\nexcept with a jerk still higher, your neck aching till you did not know\nhow to bear it. Besides that, to have two bits instead of one--and mine\nwas a sharp one, it hurt my tongue and my jaw, and the blood from my\ntongue colored the froth that kept flying from my lips as I chafed and\nfretted at the bits and rein. It was worst when we had to stand by the\nhour waiting for our mistress at some grand party or entertainment, and\nif I fretted or stamped with impatience the whip was laid on. It was\nenough to drive one mad.\"\n\n\"Did not your master take any thought for you?\" I said.\n\n\"No,\" said she, \"he only cared to have a stylish turnout, as they\ncall it; I think he knew very little about horses; he left that to his\ncoachman, who told him I had an irritable temper! that I had not been\nwell broken to the check-rein, but I should soon get used to it; but he\nwas not the man to do it, for when I was in the stable, miserable and\nangry, instead of being smoothed and quieted by kindness, I got only a\nsurly word or a blow. If he had been civil I would have tried to\nbear it. I was willing to work, and ready to work hard too; but to be\ntormented for nothing but their fancies angered me. What right had they\nto make me suffer like that? Besides the soreness in my mouth, and\nthe pain in my neck, it always made my windpipe feel bad, and if I had\nstopped there long I know it would have spoiled my breathing; but I grew\nmore and more restless and irritable, I could not help it; and I began\nto snap and kick when any one came to harness me; for this the groom\nbeat me, and one day, as they had just buckled us into the carriage,\nand were straining my head up with that rein, I began to plunge and\nkick with all my might. I soon broke a lot of harness, and kicked myself\nclear; so that was an end of that place.\n\n\"After this I was sent to Tattersall's to be sold; of course I could not\nbe warranted free from vice, so nothing was said about that. My handsome\nappearance and good paces soon brought a gentleman to bid for me, and I\nwas bought by another dealer; he tried me in all kinds of ways and with\ndifferent bits, and he soon found out what I could not bear. At last\nhe drove me quite without a check-rein, and then sold me as a perfectly\nquiet horse to a gentleman in the country; he was a good master, and I\nwas getting on very well, but his old groom left him and a new one came.\nThis man was as hard-tempered and hard-handed as Samson; he always spoke\nin a rough, impatient voice, and if I did not move in the stall the\nmoment he wanted me, he would hit me above the hocks with his stable\nbroom or the fork, whichever he might have in his hand. Everything he\ndid was rough, and I began to hate him; he wanted to make me afraid\nof him, but I was too high-mettled for that, and one day when he had\naggravated me more than usual I bit him, which of course put him in a\ngreat rage, and he began to hit me about the head with a riding whip.\nAfter that he never dared to come into my stall again; either my heels\nor my teeth were ready for him, and he knew it. I was quite quiet with\nmy master, but of course he listened to what the man said, and so I was\nsold again.\n\n\"The same dealer heard of me, and said he thought he knew one place\nwhere I should do well. ''Twas a pity,' he said, 'that such a fine horse\nshould go to the bad, for want of a real good chance,' and the end of it\nwas that I came here not long before you did; but I had then made up my\nmind that men were my natural enemies and that I must defend myself. Of\ncourse it is very different here, but who knows how long it will last? I\nwish I could think about things as you do; but I can't, after all I have\ngone through.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"I think it would be a real shame if you were to bite or\nkick John or James.\"\n\n\"I don't mean to,\" she said, \"while they are good to me. I did bite\nJames once pretty sharp, but John said, 'Try her with kindness,' and\ninstead of punishing me as I expected, James came to me with his arm\nbound up, and brought me a bran mash and stroked me; and I have never\nsnapped at him since, and I won't either.\"\n\nI was sorry for Ginger, but of course I knew very little then, and I\nthought most likely she made the worst of it; however, I found that as\nthe weeks went on she grew much more gentle and cheerful, and had lost\nthe watchful, defiant look that she used to turn on any strange person\nwho came near her; and one day James said, \"I do believe that mare is\ngetting fond of me, she quite whinnied after me this morning when I had\nbeen rubbing her forehead.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay, Jim, 'tis 'the Birtwick balls',\" said John, \"she'll be as good\nas Black Beauty by and by; kindness is all the physic she wants, poor\nthing!\" Master noticed the change, too, and one day when he got out of\nthe carriage and came to speak to us, as he often did, he stroked her\nbeautiful neck. \"Well, my pretty one, well, how do things go with you\nnow? You are a good bit happier than when you came to us, I think.\"\n\nShe put her nose up to him in a friendly, trustful way, while he rubbed\nit gently.\n\n\"We shall make a cure of her, John,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes, sir, she's wonderfully improved; she's not the same creature that\nshe was; it's 'the Birtwick balls', sir,\" said John, laughing.\n\nThis was a little joke of John's; he used to say that a regular course\nof \"the Birtwick horseballs\" would cure almost any vicious horse; these\nballs, he said, were made up of patience and gentleness, firmness and\npetting, one pound of each to be mixed up with half a pint of common\nsense, and given to the horse every day.\n\n\n\n\n09 Merrylegs\n\n\nMr. Blomefield, the vicar, had a large family of boys and girls;\nsometimes they used to come and play with Miss Jessie and Flora. One\nof the girls was as old as Miss Jessie; two of the boys were older, and\nthere were several little ones. When they came there was plenty of work\nfor Merrylegs, for nothing pleased them so much as getting on him by\nturns and riding him all about the orchard and the home paddock, and\nthis they would do by the hour together.\n\nOne afternoon he had been out with them a long time, and when James\nbrought him in and put on his halter he said:\n\n\"There, you rogue, mind how you behave yourself, or we shall get into\ntrouble.\"\n\n\"What have you been doing, Merrylegs?\" I asked.\n\n\"Oh!\" said he, tossing his little head, \"I have only been giving those\nyoung people a lesson; they did not know when they had had enough, nor\nwhen I had had enough, so I just pitched them off backward; that was the\nonly thing they could understand.\"\n\n\"What!\" said I, \"you threw the children off? I thought you did know\nbetter than that! Did you throw Miss Jessie or Miss Flora?\"\n\nHe looked very much offended, and said:\n\n\"Of course not; I would not do such a thing for the best oats that ever\ncame into the stable; why, I am as careful of our young ladies as the\nmaster could be, and as for the little ones it is I who teach them to\nride. When they seem frightened or a little unsteady on my back I go as\nsmooth and as quiet as old pussy when she is after a bird; and when they\nare all right I go on again faster, you see, just to use them to it; so\ndon't you trouble yourself preaching to me; I am the best friend and the\nbest riding-master those children have. It is not them, it is the boys;\nboys,\" said he, shaking his mane, \"are quite different; they must be\nbroken in as we were broken in when we were colts, and just be taught\nwhat's what. The other children had ridden me about for nearly two\nhours, and then the boys thought it was their turn, and so it was, and\nI was quite agreeable. They rode me by turns, and I galloped them about,\nup and down the fields and all about the orchard, for a good hour. They\nhad each cut a great hazel stick for a riding-whip, and laid it on a\nlittle too hard; but I took it in good part, till at last I thought we\nhad had enough, so I stopped two or three times by way of a hint.\nBoys, you see, think a horse or pony is like a steam-engine or a\nthrashing-machine, and can go on as long and as fast as they please;\nthey never think that a pony can get tired, or have any feelings; so as\nthe one who was whipping me could not understand I just rose up on\nmy hind legs and let him slip off behind--that was all. He mounted me\nagain, and I did the same. Then the other boy got up, and as soon as\nhe began to use his stick I laid him on the grass, and so on, till they\nwere able to understand--that was all. They are not bad boys; they don't\nwish to be cruel. I like them very well; but you see I had to give them\na lesson. When they brought me to James and told him I think he was very\nangry to see such big sticks. He said they were only fit for drovers or\ngypsies, and not for young gentlemen.\"\n\n\"If I had been you,\" said Ginger, \"I would have given those boys a good\nkick, and that would have given them a lesson.\"\n\n\"No doubt you would,\" said Merrylegs; \"but then I am not quite such a\nfool (begging your pardon) as to anger our master or make James ashamed\nof me. Besides, those children are under my charge when they are riding;\nI tell you they are intrusted to me. Why, only the other day I heard our\nmaster say to Mrs. Blomefield, 'My dear madam, you need not be anxious\nabout the children; my old Merrylegs will take as much care of them as\nyou or I could; I assure you I would not sell that pony for any money,\nhe is so perfectly good-tempered and trustworthy;' and do you think I am\nsuch an ungrateful brute as to forget all the kind treatment I have\nhad here for five years, and all the trust they place in me, and turn\nvicious because a couple of ignorant boys used me badly? No, no! you\nnever had a good place where they were kind to you, and so you don't\nknow, and I'm sorry for you; but I can tell you good places make good\nhorses. I wouldn't vex our people for anything; I love them, I do,\" said\nMerrylegs, and he gave a low \"ho, ho, ho!\" through his nose, as he used\nto do in the morning when he heard James' footstep at the door.\n\n\"Besides,\" he went on, \"if I took to kicking where should I be? Why,\nsold off in a jiffy, and no character, and I might find myself slaved\nabout under a butcher's boy, or worked to death at some seaside place\nwhere no one cared for me, except to find out how fast I could go, or be\nflogged along in some cart with three or four great men in it going out\nfor a Sunday spree, as I have often seen in the place I lived in before\nI came here; no,\" said he, shaking his head, \"I hope I shall never come\nto that.\"\n\n\n\n\n10 A Talk in the Orchard\n\n\nGinger and I were not of the regular tall carriage horse breed, we had\nmore of the racing blood in us. We stood about fifteen and a half hands\nhigh; we were therefore just as good for riding as we were for driving,\nand our master used to say that he disliked either horse or man that\ncould do but one thing; and as he did not want to show off in London\nparks, he preferred a more active and useful kind of horse. As for us,\nour greatest pleasure was when we were saddled for a riding party; the\nmaster on Ginger, the mistress on me, and the young ladies on Sir Oliver\nand Merrylegs. It was so cheerful to be trotting and cantering all\ntogether that it always put us in high spirits. I had the best of it,\nfor I always carried the mistress; her weight was little, her voice was\nsweet, and her hand was so light on the rein that I was guided almost\nwithout feeling it.\n\nOh! if people knew what a comfort to horses a light hand is, and how it\nkeeps a good mouth and a good temper, they surely would not chuck, and\ndrag, and pull at the rein as they often do. Our mouths are so tender\nthat where they have not been spoiled or hardened with bad or ignorant\ntreatment, they feel the slightest movement of the driver's hand, and\nwe know in an instant what is required of us. My mouth has never been\nspoiled, and I believe that was why the mistress preferred me to Ginger,\nalthough her paces were certainly quite as good. She used often to envy\nme, and said it was all the fault of breaking in, and the gag bit in\nLondon, that her mouth was not so perfect as mine; and then old Sir\nOliver would say, \"There, there! don't vex yourself; you have the\ngreatest honor; a mare that can carry a tall man of our master's weight,\nwith all your spring and sprightly action, does not need to hold her\nhead down because she does not carry the lady; we horses must take\nthings as they come, and always be contented and willing so long as we\nare kindly used.\"\n\nI had often wondered how it was that Sir Oliver had such a very short\ntail; it really was only six or seven inches long, with a tassel of hair\nhanging from it; and on one of our holidays in the orchard I ventured to\nask him by what accident it was that he had lost his tail. \"Accident!\"\nhe snorted with a fierce look, \"it was no accident! it was a cruel,\nshameful, cold-blooded act! When I was young I was taken to a place\nwhere these cruel things were done; I was tied up, and made fast so that\nI could not stir, and then they came and cut off my long and beautiful\ntail, through the flesh and through the bone, and took it away.\n\n\"How dreadful!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Dreadful, ah! it was dreadful; but it was not only the pain, though\nthat was terrible and lasted a long time; it was not only the indignity\nof having my best ornament taken from me, though that was bad; but it\nwas this, how could I ever brush the flies off my sides and my hind legs\nany more? You who have tails just whisk the flies off without thinking\nabout it, and you can't tell what a torment it is to have them settle\nupon you and sting and sting, and have nothing in the world to lash them\noff with. I tell you it is a lifelong wrong, and a lifelong loss; but\nthank heaven, they don't do it now.\"\n\n\"What did they do it for then?\" said Ginger.\n\n\"For fashion!\" said the old horse with a stamp of his foot; \"for\nfashion! if you know what that means; there was not a well-bred young\nhorse in my time that had not his tail docked in that shameful way, just\nas if the good God that made us did not know what we wanted and what\nlooked best.\"\n\n\"I suppose it is fashion that makes them strap our heads up with those\nhorrid bits that I was tortured with in London,\" said Ginger.\n\n\"Of course it is,\" said he; \"to my mind, fashion is one of the wickedest\nthings in the world. Now look, for instance, at the way they serve dogs,\ncutting off their tails to make them look plucky, and shearing up their\npretty little ears to a point to make them both look sharp, forsooth. I\nhad a dear friend once, a brown terrier; 'Skye' they called her. She was\nso fond of me that she never would sleep out of my stall; she made\nher bed under the manger, and there she had a litter of five as pretty\nlittle puppies as need be; none were drowned, for they were a valuable\nkind, and how pleased she was with them! and when they got their eyes\nopen and crawled about, it was a real pretty sight; but one day the man\ncame and took them all away; I thought he might be afraid I should tread\nupon them. But it was not so; in the evening poor Skye brought them back\nagain, one by one in her mouth; not the happy little things that they\nwere, but bleeding and crying pitifully; they had all had a piece of\ntheir tails cut off, and the soft flap of their pretty little ears was\ncut quite off. How their mother licked them, and how troubled she was,\npoor thing! I never forgot it. They healed in time, and they forgot the\npain, but the nice soft flap, that of course was intended to protect the\ndelicate part of their ears from dust and injury, was gone forever. Why\ndon't they cut their own children's ears into points to make them look\nsharp? Why don't they cut the end off their noses to make them look\nplucky? One would be just as sensible as the other. What right have they\nto torment and disfigure God's creatures?\"\n\nSir Oliver, though he was so gentle, was a fiery old fellow, and what\nhe said was all so new to me, and so dreadful, that I found a bitter\nfeeling toward men rise up in my mind that I never had before. Of course\nGinger was very much excited; she flung up her head with flashing\neyes and distended nostrils, declaring that men were both brutes and\nblockheads.\n\n\"Who talks about blockheads?\" said Merrylegs, who just came up from\nthe old apple-tree, where he had been rubbing himself against the low\nbranch. \"Who talks about blockheads? I believe that is a bad word.\"\n\n\"Bad words were made for bad things,\" said Ginger, and she told him what\nSir Oliver had said.\n\n\"It is all true,\" said Merrylegs sadly, \"and I've seen that about the\ndogs over and over again where I lived first; but we won't talk about\nit here. You know that master, and John and James are always good to\nus, and talking against men in such a place as this doesn't seem fair\nor grateful, and you know there are good masters and good grooms beside\nours, though of course ours are the best.\"\n\nThis wise speech of good little Merrylegs, which we knew was quite true,\ncooled us all down, especially Sir Oliver, who was dearly fond of his\nmaster; and to turn the subject I said, \"Can any one tell me the use of\nblinkers?\"\n\n\"No!\" said Sir Oliver shortly, \"because they are no use.\"\n\n\"They are supposed,\" said Justice, the roan cob, in his calm way, \"to\nprevent horses from shying and starting, and getting so frightened as to\ncause accidents.\"\n\n\"Then what is the reason they do not put them on riding horses;\nespecially on ladies' horses?\" said I.\n\n\"There is no reason at all,\" said he quietly, \"except the fashion; they\nsay that a horse would be so frightened to see the wheels of his own\ncart or carriage coming behind him that he would be sure to run away,\nalthough of course when he is ridden he sees them all about him if the\nstreets are crowded. I admit they do sometimes come too close to be\npleasant, but we don't run away; we are used to it, and understand it,\nand if we never had blinkers put on we should never want them; we should\nsee what was there, and know what was what, and be much less frightened\nthan by only seeing bits of things that we can't understand. Of course\nthere may be some nervous horses who have been hurt or frightened when\nthey were young, who may be the better for them; but as I never was\nnervous, I can't judge.\"\n\n\"I consider,\" said Sir Oliver, \"that blinkers are dangerous things in\nthe night; we horses can see much better in the dark than men can, and\nmany an accident would never have happened if horses might have had the\nfull use of their eyes. Some years ago, I remember, there was a hearse\nwith two horses returning one dark night, and just by Farmer Sparrow's\nhouse, where the pond is close to the road, the wheels went too near the\nedge, and the hearse was overturned into the water; both the horses were\ndrowned, and the driver hardly escaped. Of course after this accident\na stout white rail was put up that might be easily seen, but if those\nhorses had not been partly blinded, they would of themselves have kept\nfurther from the edge, and no accident would have happened. When our\nmaster's carriage was overturned, before you came here, it was said that\nif the lamp on the left side had not gone out, John would have seen the\ngreat hole that the road-makers had left; and so he might, but if old\nColin had not had blinkers on he would have seen it, lamp or no lamp,\nfor he was far too knowing an old horse to run into danger. As it was,\nhe was very much hurt, the carriage was broken, and how John escaped\nnobody knew.\"\n\n\"I should say,\" said Ginger, curling her nostril, \"that these men, who\nare so wise, had better give orders that in the future all foals should\nbe born with their eyes set just in the middle of their foreheads,\ninstead of on the side; they always think they can improve upon nature\nand mend what God has made.\"\n\nThings were getting rather sore again, when Merrylegs held up his\nknowing little face and said, \"I'll tell you a secret: I believe John\ndoes not approve of blinkers; I heard him talking with master about it\none day. The master said that 'if horses had been used to them, it might\nbe dangerous in some cases to leave them off'; and John said he thought\nit would be a good thing if all colts were broken in without blinkers,\nas was the case in some foreign countries. So let us cheer up, and have\na run to the other end of the orchard; I believe the wind has blown down\nsome apples, and we might just as well eat them as the slugs.\"\n\nMerrylegs could not be resisted, so we broke off our long conversation,\nand got up our spirits by munching some very sweet apples which lay\nscattered on the grass.\n\n\n\n\n11 Plain Speaking\n\n\nThe longer I lived at Birtwick the more proud and happy I felt at having\nsuch a place. Our master and mistress were respected and beloved by all\nwho knew them; they were good and kind to everybody and everything; not\nonly men and women, but horses and donkeys, dogs and cats, cattle and\nbirds; there was no oppressed or ill-used creature that had not a friend\nin them, and their servants took the same tone. If any of the village\nchildren were known to treat any creature cruelly they soon heard about\nit from the Hall.\n\nThe squire and Farmer Grey had worked together, as they said, for more\nthan twenty years to get check-reins on the cart-horses done away with,\nand in our parts you seldom saw them; and sometimes, if mistress met\na heavily laden horse with his head strained up she would stop the\ncarriage and get out, and reason with the driver in her sweet serious\nvoice, and try to show him how foolish and cruel it was.\n\nI don't think any man could withstand our mistress. I wish all ladies\nwere like her. Our master, too, used to come down very heavy sometimes.\nI remember he was riding me toward home one morning when we saw a\npowerful man driving toward us in a light pony chaise, with a beautiful\nlittle bay pony, with slender legs and a high-bred sensitive head and\nface. Just as he came to the park gates the little thing turned toward\nthem; the man, without word or warning, wrenched the creature's head\nround with such a force and suddenness that he nearly threw it on its\nhaunches. Recovering itself it was going on, when he began to lash it\nfuriously. The pony plunged forward, but the strong, heavy hand held the\npretty creature back with force almost enough to break its jaw, while\nthe whip still cut into him. It was a dreadful sight to me, for I knew\nwhat fearful pain it gave that delicate little mouth; but master gave me\nthe word, and we were up with him in a second.\n\n\"Sawyer,\" he cried in a stern voice, \"is that pony made of flesh and\nblood?\"\n\n\"Flesh and blood and temper,\" he said; \"he's too fond of his own will,\nand that won't suit me.\" He spoke as if he was in a strong passion. He\nwas a builder who had often been to the park on business.\n\n\"And do you think,\" said master sternly, \"that treatment like this will\nmake him fond of your will?\"\n\n\"He had no business to make that turn; his road was straight on!\" said\nthe man roughly.\n\n\"You have often driven that pony up to my place,\" said master; \"it only\nshows the creature's memory and intelligence; how did he know that you\nwere not going there again? But that has little to do with it. I must\nsay, Mr. Sawyer, that a more unmanly, brutal treatment of a little\npony it was never my painful lot to witness, and by giving way to such\npassion you injure your own character as much, nay more, than you injure\nyour horse; and remember, we shall all have to be judged according to\nour works, whether they be toward man or toward beast.\"\n\nMaster rode me home slowly, and I could tell by his voice how the thing\nhad grieved him. He was just as free to speak to gentlemen of his own\nrank as to those below him; for another day, when we were out, we met\na Captain Langley, a friend of our master's; he was driving a splendid\npair of grays in a kind of break. After a little conversation the\ncaptain said:\n\n\"What do you think of my new team, Mr. Douglas? You know, you are the\njudge of horses in these parts, and I should like your opinion.\"\n\nThe master backed me a little, so as to get a good view of them. \"They\nare an uncommonly handsome pair,\" he said, \"and if they are as good as\nthey look I am sure you need not wish for anything better; but I see\nyou still hold that pet scheme of yours for worrying your horses and\nlessening their power.\"\n\n\"What do you mean,\" said the other, \"the check-reins? Oh, ah! I know\nthat's a hobby of yours; well, the fact is, I like to see my horses hold\ntheir heads up.\"\n\n\"So do I,\" said master, \"as well as any man, but I don't like to\nsee them held up; that takes all the shine out of it. Now, you are a\nmilitary man, Langley, and no doubt like to see your regiment look well\non parade, 'heads up', and all that; but you would not take much credit\nfor your drill if all your men had their heads tied to a backboard! It\nmight not be much harm on parade, except to worry and fatigue them; but\nhow would it be in a bayonet charge against the enemy, when they want\nthe free use of every muscle, and all their strength thrown forward? I\nwould not give much for their chance of victory. And it is just the same\nwith horses: you fret and worry their tempers, and decrease their power;\nyou will not let them throw their weight against their work, and so\nthey have to do too much with their joints and muscles, and of course\nit wears them up faster. You may depend upon it, horses were intended\nto have their heads free, as free as men's are; and if we could act a\nlittle more according to common sense, and a good deal less according\nto fashion, we should find many things work easier; besides, you know as\nwell as I that if a horse makes a false step, he has much less chance\nof recovering himself if his head and neck are fastened back. And now,\"\nsaid the master, laughing, \"I have given my hobby a good trot out, can't\nyou make up your mind to mount him, too, captain? Your example would go\na long way.\"\n\n\"I believe you are right in theory,\" said the other, \"and that's rather\na hard hit about the soldiers; but--well--I'll think about it,\" and so\nthey parted.\n\n\n\n\n12 A Stormy Day\n\n\nOne day late in the autumn my master had a long journey to go on\nbusiness. I was put into the dog-cart, and John went with his master. I\nalways liked to go in the dog-cart, it was so light and the high wheels\nran along so pleasantly. There had been a great deal of rain, and now\nthe wind was very high and blew the dry leaves across the road in a\nshower. We went along merrily till we came to the toll-bar and the low\nwooden bridge. The river banks were rather high, and the bridge, instead\nof rising, went across just level, so that in the middle, if the river\nwas full, the water would be nearly up to the woodwork and planks; but\nas there were good substantial rails on each side, people did not mind\nit.\n\nThe man at the gate said the river was rising fast, and he feared it\nwould be a bad night. Many of the meadows were under water, and in one\nlow part of the road the water was halfway up to my knees; the bottom\nwas good, and master drove gently, so it was no matter.\n\nWhen we got to the town of course I had a good bait, but as the master's\nbusiness engaged him a long time we did not start for home till rather\nlate in the afternoon. The wind was then much higher, and I heard the\nmaster say to John that he had never been out in such a storm; and so I\nthought, as we went along the skirts of a wood, where the great branches\nwere swaying about like twigs, and the rushing sound was terrible.\n\n\"I wish we were well out of this wood,\" said my master.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said John, \"it would be rather awkward if one of these\nbranches came down upon us.\"\n\nThe words were scarcely out of his mouth when there was a groan, and a\ncrack, and a splitting sound, and tearing, crashing down among the other\ntrees came an oak, torn up by the roots, and it fell right across the\nroad just before us. I will never say I was not frightened, for I was. I\nstopped still, and I believe I trembled; of course I did not turn round\nor run away; I was not brought up to that. John jumped out and was in a\nmoment at my head.\n\n\"That was a very near touch,\" said my master. \"What's to be done now?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, we can't drive over that tree, nor yet get round it; there\nwill be nothing for it, but to go back to the four crossways, and that\nwill be a good six miles before we get round to the wooden bridge again;\nit will make us late, but the horse is fresh.\"\n\nSo back we went and round by the crossroads, but by the time we got to\nthe bridge it was very nearly dark; we could just see that the water was\nover the middle of it; but as that happened sometimes when the floods\nwere out, master did not stop. We were going along at a good pace, but\nthe moment my feet touched the first part of the bridge I felt sure\nthere was something wrong. I dare not go forward, and I made a dead\nstop. \"Go on, Beauty,\" said my master, and he gave me a touch with the\nwhip, but I dare not stir; he gave me a sharp cut; I jumped, but I dare\nnot go forward.\n\n\"There's something wrong, sir,\" said John, and he sprang out of the\ndog-cart and came to my head and looked all about. He tried to lead me\nforward. \"Come on, Beauty, what's the matter?\" Of course I could not\ntell him, but I knew very well that the bridge was not safe.\n\nJust then the man at the toll-gate on the other side ran out of the\nhouse, tossing a torch about like one mad.\n\n\"Hoy, hoy, hoy! halloo! stop!\" he cried.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" shouted my master.\n\n\"The bridge is broken in the middle, and part of it is carried away; if\nyou come on you'll be into the river.\"\n\n\"Thank God!\" said my master. \"You Beauty!\" said John, and took the\nbridle and gently turned me round to the right-hand road by the river\nside. The sun had set some time; the wind seemed to have lulled off\nafter that furious blast which tore up the tree. It grew darker and\ndarker, stiller and stiller. I trotted quietly along, the wheels hardly\nmaking a sound on the soft road. For a good while neither master nor\nJohn spoke, and then master began in a serious voice. I could not\nunderstand much of what they said, but I found they thought, if I had\ngone on as the master wanted me, most likely the bridge would have given\nway under us, and horse, chaise, master, and man would have fallen into\nthe river; and as the current was flowing very strongly, and there was\nno light and no help at hand, it was more than likely we should all have\nbeen drowned. Master said, God had given men reason, by which they could\nfind out things for themselves; but he had given animals knowledge which\ndid not depend on reason, and which was much more prompt and perfect in\nits way, and by which they had often saved the lives of men. John had\nmany stories to tell of dogs and horses, and the wonderful things they\nhad done; he thought people did not value their animals half enough nor\nmake friends of them as they ought to do. I am sure he makes friends of\nthem if ever a man did.\n\nAt last we came to the park gates and found the gardener looking out for\nus. He said that mistress had been in a dreadful way ever since dark,\nfearing some accident had happened, and that she had sent James off on\nJustice, the roan cob, toward the wooden bridge to make inquiry after\nus.\n\nWe saw a light at the hall-door and at the upper windows, and as we came\nup mistress ran out, saying, \"Are you really safe, my dear? Oh! I\nhave been so anxious, fancying all sorts of things. Have you had no\naccident?\"\n\n\"No, my dear; but if your Black Beauty had not been wiser than we were\nwe should all have been carried down the river at the wooden bridge.\"\nI heard no more, as they went into the house, and John took me to the\nstable. Oh, what a good supper he gave me that night, a good bran mash\nand some crushed beans with my oats, and such a thick bed of straw! and\nI was glad of it, for I was tired.\n\n\n\n\n13 The Devil's Trade Mark\n\n\nOne day when John and I had been out on some business of our master's,\nand were returning gently on a long, straight road, at some distance we\nsaw a boy trying to leap a pony over a gate; the pony would not take the\nleap, and the boy cut him with the whip, but he only turned off on one\nside. He whipped him again, but the pony turned off on the other side.\nThen the boy got off and gave him a hard thrashing, and knocked him\nabout the head; then he got up again and tried to make him leap the\ngate, kicking him all the time shamefully, but still the pony refused.\nWhen we were nearly at the spot the pony put down his head and threw up\nhis heels, and sent the boy neatly over into a broad quickset hedge, and\nwith the rein dangling from his head he set off home at a full gallop.\nJohn laughed out quite loud. \"Served him right,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, oh, oh!\" cried the boy as he struggled about among the thorns; \"I\nsay, come and help me out.\"\n\n\"Thank ye,\" said John, \"I think you are quite in the right place, and\nmaybe a little scratching will teach you not to leap a pony over a gate\nthat is too high for him,\" and so with that John rode off. \"It may be,\"\nsaid he to himself, \"that young fellow is a liar as well as a cruel one;\nwe'll just go home by Farmer Bushby's, Beauty, and then if anybody wants\nto know you and I can tell 'em, ye see.\" So we turned off to the right,\nand soon came up to the stack-yard, and within sight of the house. The\nfarmer was hurrying out into the road, and his wife was standing at the\ngate, looking very frightened.\n\n\"Have you seen my boy?\" said Mr. Bushby as we came up; \"he went out an\nhour ago on my black pony, and the creature is just come back without a\nrider.\"\n\n\"I should think, sir,\" said John, \"he had better be without a rider,\nunless he can be ridden properly.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" said the farmer.\n\n\"Well, sir, I saw your son whipping, and kicking, and knocking that good\nlittle pony about shamefully because he would not leap a gate that was\ntoo high for him. The pony behaved well, sir, and showed no vice; but at\nlast he just threw up his heels and tipped the young gentleman into the\nthorn hedge. He wanted me to help him out, but I hope you will excuse\nme, sir, I did not feel inclined to do so. There's no bones broken, sir;\nhe'll only get a few scratches. I love horses, and it riles me to see\nthem badly used; it is a bad plan to aggravate an animal till he uses\nhis heels; the first time is not always the last.\"\n\nDuring this time the mother began to cry, \"Oh, my poor Bill, I must go\nand meet him; he must be hurt.\"\n\n\"You had better go into the house, wife,\" said the farmer; \"Bill wants a\nlesson about this, and I must see that he gets it; this is not the first\ntime, nor the second, that he has ill-used that pony, and I shall stop\nit. I am much obliged to you, Manly. Good-evening.\"\n\nSo we went on, John chuckling all the way home; then he told James about\nit, who laughed and said, \"Serve him right. I knew that boy at school;\nhe took great airs on himself because he was a farmer's son; he used to\nswagger about and bully the little boys. Of course, we elder ones would\nnot have any of that nonsense, and let him know that in the school and\nthe playground farmers' sons and laborers' sons were all alike. I well\nremember one day, just before afternoon school, I found him at the large\nwindow catching flies and pulling off their wings. He did not see me and\nI gave him a box on the ears that laid him sprawling on the floor. Well,\nangry as I was, I was almost frightened, he roared and bellowed in such\na style. The boys rushed in from the playground, and the master ran in\nfrom the road to see who was being murdered. Of course I said fair and\nsquare at once what I had done, and why; then I showed the master the\nflies, some crushed and some crawling about helpless, and I showed him\nthe wings on the window sill. I never saw him so angry before; but as\nBill was still howling and whining, like the coward that he was, he did\nnot give him any more punishment of that kind, but set him up on a stool\nfor the rest of the afternoon, and said that he should not go out to\nplay for that week. Then he talked to all the boys very seriously about\ncruelty, and said how hard-hearted and cowardly it was to hurt the\nweak and the helpless; but what stuck in my mind was this, he said that\ncruelty was the devil's own trade-mark, and if we saw any one who took\npleasure in cruelty we might know who he belonged to, for the devil was\na murderer from the beginning, and a tormentor to the end. On the other\nhand, where we saw people who loved their neighbors, and were kind to\nman and beast, we might know that was God's mark.\"\n\n\"Your master never taught you a truer thing,\" said John; \"there is no\nreligion without love, and people may talk as much as they like about\ntheir religion, but if it does not teach them to be good and kind to man\nand beast it is all a sham--all a sham, James, and it won't stand when\nthings come to be turned inside out.\"\n\n\n\n\n14 James Howard\n\n\nEarly one morning in December John had just led me into my box after my\ndaily exercise, and was strapping my cloth on and James was coming in\nfrom the corn chamber with some oats, when the master came into the\nstable. He looked rather serious, and held an open letter in his hand.\nJohn fastened the door of my box, touched his cap, and waited for\norders.\n\n\"Good-morning, John,\" said the master. \"I want to know if you have any\ncomplaint to make of James.\"\n\n\"Complaint, sir? No, sir.\"\n\n\"Is he industrious at his work and respectful to you?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, always.\"\n\n\"You never find he slights his work when your back is turned?\"\n\n\"Never, sir.\"\n\n\"That's well; but I must put another question. Have you no reason to\nsuspect, when he goes out with the horses to exercise them or to take a\nmessage, that he stops about talking to his acquaintances, or goes into\nhouses where he has no business, leaving the horses outside?\"\n\n\"No, sir, certainly not; and if anybody has been saying that about\nJames, I don't believe it, and I don't mean to believe it unless I have\nit fairly proved before witnesses; it's not for me to say who has been\ntrying to take away James' character, but I will say this, sir, that a\nsteadier, pleasanter, honester, smarter young fellow I never had in this\nstable. I can trust his word and I can trust his work; he is gentle and\nclever with the horses, and I would rather have them in charge with him\nthan with half the young fellows I know of in laced hats and liveries;\nand whoever wants a character of James Howard,\" said John, with a\ndecided jerk of his head, \"let them come to John Manly.\"\n\nThe master stood all this time grave and attentive, but as John finished\nhis speech a broad smile spread over his face, and looking kindly\nacross at James, who all this time had stood still at the door, he said,\n\"James, my lad, set down the oats and come here; I am very glad to find\nthat John's opinion of your character agrees so exactly with my own.\nJohn is a cautious man,\" he said, with a droll smile, \"and it is not\nalways easy to get his opinion about people, so I thought if I beat the\nbush on this side the birds would fly out, and I should learn what I\nwanted to know quickly; so now we will come to business. I have a letter\nfrom my brother-in-law, Sir Clifford Williams, of Clifford Hall.\nHe wants me to find him a trustworthy young groom, about twenty or\ntwenty-one, who knows his business. His old coachman, who has lived with\nhim thirty years, is getting feeble, and he wants a man to work with him\nand get into his ways, who would be able, when the old man was pensioned\noff, to step into his place. He would have eighteen shillings a week at\nfirst, a stable suit, a driving suit, a bedroom over the coachhouse, and\na boy under him. Sir Clifford is a good master, and if you could get the\nplace it would be a good start for you. I don't want to part with you,\nand if you left us I know John would lose his right hand.\"\n\n\"That I should, sir,\" said John, \"but I would not stand in his light for\nthe world.\"\n\n\"How old are you, James?\" said master.\n\n\"Nineteen next May, sir.\"\n\n\"That's young; what do you think, John?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, it is young; but he is as steady as a man, and is strong,\nand well grown, and though he has not had much experience in driving, he\nhas a light firm hand and a quick eye, and he is very careful, and I am\nquite sure no horse of his will be ruined for want of having his feet\nand shoes looked after.\"\n\n\"Your word will go the furthest, John,\" said the master, \"for Sir\nClifford adds in a postscript, 'If I could find a man trained by your\nJohn I should like him better than any other;' so, James, lad, think it\nover, talk to your mother at dinner-time, and then let me know what you\nwish.\"\n\nIn a few days after this conversation it was fully settled that James\nshould go to Clifford Hall, in a month or six weeks, as it suited his\nmaster, and in the meantime he was to get all the practice in driving\nthat could be given to him. I never knew the carriage to go out so often\nbefore; when the mistress did not go out the master drove himself in the\ntwo-wheeled chaise; but now, whether it was master or the young ladies,\nor only an errand, Ginger and I were put in the carriage and James drove\nus. At the first John rode with him on the box, telling him this and\nthat, and after that James drove alone.\n\nThen it was wonderful what a number of places the master would go to in\nthe city on Saturday, and what queer streets we were driven through. He\nwas sure to go to the railway station just as the train was coming in,\nand cabs and carriages, carts and omnibuses were all trying to get over\nthe bridge together; that bridge wanted good horses and good drivers\nwhen the railway bell was ringing, for it was narrow, and there was a\nvery sharp turn up to the station, where it would not have been at all\ndifficult for people to run into each other, if they did not look sharp\nand keep their wits about them.\n\n\n\n\n15 The Old Hostler\n\n\nAfter this it was decided by my master and mistress to pay a visit to\nsome friends who lived about forty-six miles from our home, and James\nwas to drive them. The first day we traveled thirty-two miles.\nThere were some long, heavy hills, but James drove so carefully and\nthoughtfully that we were not at all harassed. He never forgot to put on\nthe brake as we went downhill, nor to take it off at the right place. He\nkept our feet on the smoothest part of the road, and if the uphill was\nvery long, he set the carriage wheels a little across the road, so as\nnot to run back, and gave us a breathing. All these little things help a\nhorse very much, particularly if he gets kind words into the bargain.\n\nWe stopped once or twice on the road, and just as the sun was going down\nwe reached the town where we were to spend the night. We stopped at the\nprincipal hotel, which was in the market-place; it was a very large one;\nwe drove under an archway into a long yard, at the further end of which\nwere the stables and coachhouses. Two hostlers came to take us out. The\nhead hostler was a pleasant, active little man, with a crooked leg,\nand a yellow striped waistcoat. I never saw a man unbuckle harness so\nquickly as he did, and with a pat and a good word he led me to a long\nstable, with six or eight stalls in it, and two or three horses. The\nother man brought Ginger; James stood by while we were rubbed down and\ncleaned.\n\nI never was cleaned so lightly and quickly as by that little old man.\nWhen he had done James stepped up and felt me over, as if he thought I\ncould not be thoroughly done, but he found my coat as clean and smooth\nas silk.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"I thought I was pretty quick, and our John quicker\nstill, but you do beat all I ever saw for being quick and thorough at\nthe same time.\"\n\n\"Practice makes perfect,\" said the crooked little hostler, \"and 'twould\nbe a pity if it didn't; forty years' practice, and not perfect! ha, ha!\nthat would be a pity; and as to being quick, why, bless you! that is\nonly a matter of habit; if you get into the habit of being quick it is\njust as easy as being slow; easier, I should say; in fact it don't agree\nwith my health to be hulking about over a job twice as long as it need\ntake. Bless you! I couldn't whistle if I crawled over my work as some\nfolks do! You see, I have been about horses ever since I was twelve\nyears old, in hunting stables, and racing stables; and being small, ye\nsee, I was jockey for several years; but at the Goodwood, ye see, the\nturf was very slippery and my poor Larkspur got a fall, and I broke my\nknee, and so of course I was of no more use there. But I could not live\nwithout horses, of course I couldn't, so I took to the hotels. And I\ncan tell ye it is a downright pleasure to handle an animal like this,\nwell-bred, well-mannered, well-cared-for; bless ye! I can tell how a\nhorse is treated. Give me the handling of a horse for twenty minutes,\nand I'll tell you what sort of a groom he has had. Look at this one,\npleasant, quiet, turns about just as you want him, holds up his feet to\nbe cleaned out, or anything else you please to wish; then you'll find\nanother fidgety, fretty, won't move the right way, or starts across the\nstall, tosses up his head as soon as you come near him, lays his ears,\nand seems afraid of you; or else squares about at you with his heels.\nPoor things! I know what sort of treatment they have had. If they are\ntimid it makes them start or shy; if they are high-mettled it makes them\nvicious or dangerous; their tempers are mostly made when they are young.\nBless you! they are like children, train 'em up in the way they should\ngo, as the good book says, and when they are old they will not depart\nfrom it, if they have a chance.\"\n\n\"I like to hear you talk,\" said James, \"that's the way we lay it down at\nhome, at our master's.\"\n\n\"Who is your master, young man? if it be a proper question. I should\njudge he is a good one, from what I see.\"\n\n\"He is Squire Gordon, of Birtwick Park, the other side the Beacon\nHills,\" said James.\n\n\"Ah! so, so, I have heard tell of him; fine judge of horses, ain't he?\nthe best rider in the county.\"\n\n\"I believe he is,\" said James, \"but he rides very little now, since the\npoor young master was killed.\"\n\n\"Ah! poor gentleman; I read all about it in the paper at the time. A\nfine horse killed, too, wasn't there?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said James; \"he was a splendid creature, brother to this one, and\njust like him.\"\n\n\"Pity! pity!\" said the old man; \"'twas a bad place to leap, if I\nremember; a thin fence at top, a steep bank down to the stream, wasn't\nit? No chance for a horse to see where he is going. Now, I am for bold\nriding as much as any man, but still there are some leaps that only\na very knowing old huntsman has any right to take. A man's life and a\nhorse's life are worth more than a fox's tail; at least, I should say\nthey ought to be.\"\n\nDuring this time the other man had finished Ginger and had brought our\ncorn, and James and the old man left the stable together.\n\n\n\n\n16 The Fire\n\n\nLater on in the evening a traveler's horse was brought in by the second\nhostler, and while he was cleaning him a young man with a pipe in his\nmouth lounged into the stable to gossip.\n\n\"I say, Towler,\" said the hostler, \"just run up the ladder into the loft\nand put some hay down into this horse's rack, will you? only lay down\nyour pipe.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said the other, and went up through the trapdoor; and I\nheard him step across the floor overhead and put down the hay. James\ncame in to look at us the last thing, and then the door was locked.\n\nI cannot say how long I had slept, nor what time in the night it was,\nbut I woke up very uncomfortable, though I hardly knew why. I got up;\nthe air seemed all thick and choking. I heard Ginger coughing and one\nof the other horses seemed very restless; it was quite dark, and I could\nsee nothing, but the stable seemed full of smoke, and I hardly knew how\nto breathe.\n\nThe trapdoor had been left open, and I thought that was the place it\ncame through. I listened, and heard a soft rushing sort of noise and a\nlow crackling and snapping. I did not know what it was, but there was\nsomething in the sound so strange that it made me tremble all over. The\nother horses were all awake; some were pulling at their halters, others\nstamping.\n\nAt last I heard steps outside, and the hostler who had put up the\ntraveler's horse burst into the stable with a lantern, and began to\nuntie the horses, and try to lead them out; but he seemed in such a\nhurry and so frightened himself that he frightened me still more. The\nfirst horse would not go with him; he tried the second and third, and\nthey too would not stir. He came to me next and tried to drag me out of\nthe stall by force; of course that was no use. He tried us all by turns\nand then left the stable.\n\nNo doubt we were very foolish, but danger seemed to be all round, and\nthere was nobody we knew to trust in, and all was strange and uncertain.\nThe fresh air that had come in through the open door made it easier to\nbreathe, but the rushing sound overhead grew louder, and as I looked\nupward through the bars of my empty rack I saw a red light flickering\non the wall. Then I heard a cry of \"Fire!\" outside, and the old hostler\nquietly and quickly came in; he got one horse out, and went to another,\nbut the flames were playing round the trapdoor, and the roaring overhead\nwas dreadful.\n\nThe next thing I heard was James' voice, quiet and cheery, as it always\nwas.\n\n\"Come, my beauties, it is time for us to be off, so wake up and come\nalong.\" I stood nearest the door, so he came to me first, patting me as\nhe came in.\n\n\"Come, Beauty, on with your bridle, my boy, we'll soon be out of this\nsmother.\" It was on in no time; then he took the scarf off his neck, and\ntied it lightly over my eyes, and patting and coaxing he led me out\nof the stable. Safe in the yard, he slipped the scarf off my eyes, and\nshouted, \"Here somebody! take this horse while I go back for the other.\"\n\nA tall, broad man stepped forward and took me, and James darted back\ninto the stable. I set up a shrill whinny as I saw him go. Ginger told\nme afterward that whinny was the best thing I could have done for her,\nfor had she not heard me outside she would never have had courage to\ncome out.\n\nThere was much confusion in the yard; the horses being got out of other\nstables, and the carriages and gigs being pulled out of houses and\nsheds, lest the flames should spread further. On the other side the yard\nwindows were thrown up, and people were shouting all sorts of things;\nbut I kept my eye fixed on the stable door, where the smoke poured out\nthicker than ever, and I could see flashes of red light; presently I\nheard above all the stir and din a loud, clear voice, which I knew was\nmaster's:\n\n\"James Howard! James Howard! Are you there?\" There was no answer, but I\nheard a crash of something falling in the stable, and the next moment\nI gave a loud, joyful neigh, for I saw James coming through the smoke\nleading Ginger with him; she was coughing violently, and he was not able\nto speak.\n\n\"My brave lad!\" said master, laying his hand on his shoulder, \"are you\nhurt?\"\n\nJames shook his head, for he could not yet speak.\n\n\"Ay,\" said the big man who held me; \"he is a brave lad, and no mistake.\"\n\n\"And now,\" said master, \"when you have got your breath, James, we'll get\nout of this place as quickly as we can,\" and we were moving toward the\nentry, when from the market-place there came a sound of galloping feet\nand loud rumbling wheels.\n\n\"'Tis the fire-engine! the fire-engine!\" shouted two or three voices,\n\"stand back, make way!\" and clattering and thundering over the stones\ntwo horses dashed into the yard with a heavy engine behind them. The\nfiremen leaped to the ground; there was no need to ask where the fire\nwas--it was rolling up in a great blaze from the roof.\n\nWe got out as fast as we could into the broad quiet market-place; the\nstars were shining, and except the noise behind us, all was still.\nMaster led the way to a large hotel on the other side, and as soon as\nthe hostler came, he said, \"James, I must now hasten to your mistress;\nI trust the horses entirely to you, order whatever you think is needed,\"\nand with that he was gone. The master did not run, but I never saw\nmortal man walk so fast as he did that night.\n\nThere was a dreadful sound before we got into our stalls--the shrieks of\nthose poor horses that were left burning to death in the stable--it was\nvery terrible! and made both Ginger and me feel very bad. We, however,\nwere taken in and well done by.\n\nThe next morning the master came to see how we were and to speak to\nJames. I did not hear much, for the hostler was rubbing me down, but\nI could see that James looked very happy, and I thought the master was\nproud of him. Our mistress had been so much alarmed in the night that\nthe journey was put off till the afternoon, so James had the morning\non hand, and went first to the inn to see about our harness and the\ncarriage, and then to hear more about the fire. When he came back we\nheard him tell the hostler about it. At first no one could guess how the\nfire had been caused, but at last a man said he saw Dick Towler go into\nthe stable with a pipe in his mouth, and when he came out he had not\none, and went to the tap for another. Then the under hostler said he had\nasked Dick to go up the ladder to put down some hay, but told him to lay\ndown his pipe first. Dick denied taking the pipe with him, but no one\nbelieved him. I remember our John Manly's rule, never to allow a pipe in\nthe stable, and thought it ought to be the rule everywhere.\n\nJames said the roof and floor had all fallen in, and that only the black\nwalls were standing; the two poor horses that could not be got out were\nburied under the burnt rafters and tiles.\n\n\n\n\n17 John Manly's Talk\n\n\nThe rest of our journey was very easy, and a little after sunset we\nreached the house of my master's friend. We were taken into a clean,\nsnug stable; there was a kind coachman, who made us very comfortable,\nand who seemed to think a good deal of James when he heard about the\nfire.\n\n\"There is one thing quite clear, young man,\" he said, \"your horses know\nwho they can trust; it is one of the hardest things in the world to get\nhorses out of a stable when there is either fire or flood. I don't know\nwhy they won't come out, but they won't--not one in twenty.\"\n\nWe stopped two or three days at this place and then returned home. All\nwent well on the journey; we were glad to be in our own stable again,\nand John was equally glad to see us.\n\nBefore he and James left us for the night James said, \"I wonder who is\ncoming in my place.\"\n\n\"Little Joe Green at the lodge,\" said John.\n\n\"Little Joe Green! why, he's a child!\"\n\n\"He is fourteen and a half,\" said John.\n\n\"But he is such a little chap!\"\n\n\"Yes, he is small, but he is quick and willing, and kind-hearted, too,\nand then he wishes very much to come, and his father would like it;\nand I know the master would like to give him the chance. He said if I\nthought he would not do he would look out for a bigger boy; but I said I\nwas quite agreeable to try him for six weeks.\"\n\n\"Six weeks!\" said James; \"why, it will be six months before he can be of\nmuch use! It will make you a deal of work, John.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said John with a laugh, \"work and I are very good friends; I\nnever was afraid of work yet.\"\n\n\"You are a very good man,\" said James. \"I wish I may ever be like you.\"\n\n\"I don't often speak of myself,\" said John, \"but as you are going away\nfrom us out into the world to shift for yourself I'll just tell you how\nI look on these things. I was just as old as Joseph when my father and\nmother died of the fever within ten days of each other, and left me and\nmy cripple sister Nelly alone in the world, without a relation that we\ncould look to for help. I was a farmer's boy, not earning enough to keep\nmyself, much less both of us, and she must have gone to the workhouse\nbut for our mistress (Nelly calls her her angel, and she has good right\nto do so). She went and hired a room for her with old Widow Mallet, and\nshe gave her knitting and needlework when she was able to do it; and\nwhen she was ill she sent her dinners and many nice, comfortable things,\nand was like a mother to her. Then the master he took me into the stable\nunder old Norman, the coachman that was then. I had my food at the house\nand my bed in the loft, and a suit of clothes, and three shillings a\nweek, so that I could help Nelly. Then there was Norman; he might have\nturned round and said at his age he could not be troubled with a raw boy\nfrom the plow-tail, but he was like a father to me, and took no end of\npains with me. When the old man died some years after I stepped into his\nplace, and now of course I have top wages, and can lay by for a rainy\nday or a sunny day, as it may happen, and Nelly is as happy as a bird.\nSo you see, James, I am not the man that should turn up his nose at a\nlittle boy and vex a good, kind master. No, no! I shall miss you very\nmuch, James, but we shall pull through, and there's nothing like doing a\nkindness when 'tis put in your way, and I am glad I can do it.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said James, \"you don't hold with that saying, 'Everybody look\nafter himself, and take care of number one'?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" said John, \"where should I and Nelly have been if master\nand mistress and old Norman had only taken care of number one? Why,\nshe in the workhouse and I hoeing turnips! Where would Black Beauty and\nGinger have been if you had only thought of number one? why, roasted to\ndeath! No, Jim, no! that is a selfish, heathenish saying, whoever uses\nit; and any man who thinks he has nothing to do but take care of number\none, why, it's a pity but what he had been drowned like a puppy or a\nkitten, before he got his eyes open; that's what I think,\" said John,\nwith a very decided jerk of his head.\n\nJames laughed at this; but there was a thickness in his voice when he\nsaid, \"You have been my best friend except my mother; I hope you won't\nforget me.\"\n\n\"No, lad, no!\" said John, \"and if ever I can do you a good turn I hope\nyou won't forget me.\"\n\nThe next day Joe came to the stables to learn all he could before James\nleft. He learned to sweep the stable, to bring in the straw and hay; he\nbegan to clean the harness, and helped to wash the carriage. As he was\nquite too short to do anything in the way of grooming Ginger and me,\nJames taught him upon Merrylegs, for he was to have full charge of\nhim, under John. He was a nice little bright fellow, and always came\nwhistling to his work.\n\nMerrylegs was a good deal put out at being \"mauled about,\" as he said,\n\"by a boy who knew nothing;\" but toward the end of the second week he\ntold me confidentially that he thought the boy would turn out well.\n\nAt last the day came when James had to leave us; cheerful as he always\nwas, he looked quite down-hearted that morning.\n\n\"You see,\" he said to John, \"I am leaving a great deal behind; my mother\nand Betsy, and you, and a good master and mistress, and then the horses,\nand my old Merrylegs. At the new place there will not be a soul that I\nshall know. If it were not that I shall get a higher place, and be able\nto help my mother better, I don't think I should have made up my mind to\nit; it is a real pinch, John.\"\n\n\"Ay, James, lad, so it is; but I should not think much of you if you\ncould leave your home for the first time and not feel it. Cheer up,\nyou'll make friends there; and if you get on well, as I am sure you\nwill, it will be a fine thing for your mother, and she will be proud\nenough that you have got into such a good place as that.\"\n\nSo John cheered him up, but every one was sorry to lose James; as for\nMerrylegs, he pined after him for several days, and went quite off his\nappetite. So John took him out several mornings with a leading rein,\nwhen he exercised me, and, trotting and galloping by my side, got up the\nlittle fellow's spirits again, and he was soon all right.\n\nJoe's father would often come in and give a little help, as he\nunderstood the work; and Joe took a great deal of pains to learn, and\nJohn was quite encouraged about him.\n\n\n\n\n18 Going for the Doctor\n\n\nOne night, a few days after James had left, I had eaten my hay and was\nlying down in my straw fast asleep, when I was suddenly roused by the\nstable bell ringing very loud. I heard the door of John's house open,\nand his feet running up to the hall. He was back again in no time; he\nunlocked the stable door, and came in, calling out, \"Wake up, Beauty!\nYou must go well now, if ever you did;\" and almost before I could think\nhe had got the saddle on my back and the bridle on my head. He just\nran round for his coat, and then took me at a quick trot up to the hall\ndoor. The squire stood there, with a lamp in his hand.\n\n\"Now, John,\" he said, \"ride for your life--that is, for your mistress'\nlife; there is not a moment to lose. Give this note to Dr. White; give\nyour horse a rest at the inn, and be back as soon as you can.\"\n\nJohn said, \"Yes, sir,\" and was on my back in a minute. The gardener who\nlived at the lodge had heard the bell ring, and was ready with the gate\nopen, and away we went through the park, and through the village, and\ndown the hill till we came to the toll-gate. John called very loud and\nthumped upon the door; the man was soon out and flung open the gate.\n\n\"Now,\" said John, \"do you keep the gate open for the doctor; here's the\nmoney,\" and off he went again.\n\nThere was before us a long piece of level road by the river side; John\nsaid to me, \"Now, Beauty, do your best,\" and so I did; I wanted no whip\nnor spur, and for two miles I galloped as fast as I could lay my feet to\nthe ground; I don't believe that my old grandfather, who won the race\nat Newmarket, could have gone faster. When we came to the bridge John\npulled me up a little and patted my neck. \"Well done, Beauty! good old\nfellow,\" he said. He would have let me go slower, but my spirit was up,\nand I was off again as fast as before. The air was frosty, the moon was\nbright; it was very pleasant. We came through a village, then through\na dark wood, then uphill, then downhill, till after eight miles' run we\ncame to the town, through the streets and into the market-place. It was\nall quite still except the clatter of my feet on the stones--everybody\nwas asleep. The church clock struck three as we drew up at Dr. White's\ndoor. John rang the bell twice, and then knocked at the door like\nthunder. A window was thrown up, and Dr. White, in his nightcap, put his\nhead out and said, \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Gordon is very ill, sir; master wants you to go at once; he thinks\nshe will die if you cannot get there. Here is a note.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" he said, \"I will come.\"\n\nHe shut the window, and was soon at the door.\n\n\"The worst of it is,\" he said, \"that my horse has been out all day and\nis quite done up; my son has just been sent for, and he has taken the\nother. What is to be done? Can I have your horse?\"\n\n\"He has come at a gallop nearly all the way, sir, and I was to give him\na rest here; but I think my master would not be against it, if you think\nfit, sir.\"\n\n\"All right,\" he said; \"I will soon be ready.\"\n\nJohn stood by me and stroked my neck; I was very hot. The doctor came\nout with his riding-whip.\n\n\"You need not take that, sir,\" said John; \"Black Beauty will go till he\ndrops. Take care of him, sir, if you can; I should not like any harm to\ncome to him.\"\n\n\"No, no, John,\" said the doctor, \"I hope not,\" and in a minute we had\nleft John far behind.\n\nI will not tell about our way back. The doctor was a heavier man than\nJohn, and not so good a rider; however, I did my very best. The man at\nthe toll-gate had it open. When we came to the hill the doctor drew me\nup. \"Now, my good fellow,\" he said, \"take some breath.\" I was glad he\ndid, for I was nearly spent, but that breathing helped me on, and soon\nwe were in the park. Joe was at the lodge gate; my master was at the\nhall door, for he had heard us coming. He spoke not a word; the doctor\nwent into the house with him, and Joe led me to the stable. I was glad\nto get home; my legs shook under me, and I could only stand and pant. I\nhad not a dry hair on my body, the water ran down my legs, and I steamed\nall over, Joe used to say, like a pot on the fire. Poor Joe! he was\nyoung and small, and as yet he knew very little, and his father, who\nwould have helped him, had been sent to the next village; but I am sure\nhe did the very best he knew. He rubbed my legs and my chest, but he did\nnot put my warm cloth on me; he thought I was so hot I should not like\nit. Then he gave me a pailful of water to drink; it was cold and very\ngood, and I drank it all; then he gave me some hay and some corn, and\nthinking he had done right, he went away. Soon I began to shake and\ntremble, and turned deadly cold; my legs ached, my loins ached, and my\nchest ached, and I felt sore all over. Oh! how I wished for my warm,\nthick cloth, as I stood and trembled. I wished for John, but he had\neight miles to walk, so I lay down in my straw and tried to go to sleep.\nAfter a long while I heard John at the door; I gave a low moan, for I\nwas in great pain. He was at my side in a moment, stooping down by me. I\ncould not tell him how I felt, but he seemed to know it all; he covered\nme up with two or three warm cloths, and then ran to the house for some\nhot water; he made me some warm gruel, which I drank, and then I think I\nwent to sleep.\n\nJohn seemed to be very much put out. I heard him say to himself over and\nover again, \"Stupid boy! stupid boy! no cloth put on, and I dare say the\nwater was cold, too; boys are no good;\" but Joe was a good boy, after\nall.\n\nI was now very ill; a strong inflammation had attacked my lungs, and I\ncould not draw my breath without pain. John nursed me night and day; he\nwould get up two or three times in the night to come to me. My master,\ntoo, often came to see me. \"My poor Beauty,\" he said one day, \"my good\nhorse, you saved your mistress' life, Beauty; yes, you saved her life.\"\nI was very glad to hear that, for it seems the doctor had said if we had\nbeen a little longer it would have been too late. John told my master he\nnever saw a horse go so fast in his life. It seemed as if the horse knew\nwhat was the matter. Of course I did, though John thought not; at least\nI knew as much as this--that John and I must go at the top of our speed,\nand that it was for the sake of the mistress.\n\n\n\n\n19 Only Ignorance\n\n\nI do not know how long I was ill. Mr. Bond, the horse-doctor, came every\nday. One day he bled me; John held a pail for the blood. I felt very\nfaint after it and thought I should die, and I believe they all thought\nso too.\n\nGinger and Merrylegs had been moved into the other stable, so that I\nmight be quiet, for the fever made me very quick of hearing; any little\nnoise seemed quite loud, and I could tell every one's footstep going to\nand from the house. I knew all that was going on. One night John had to\ngive me a draught; Thomas Green came in to help him. After I had taken\nit and John had made me as comfortable as he could, he said he should\nstay half an hour to see how the medicine settled. Thomas said he\nwould stay with him, so they went and sat down on a bench that had been\nbrought into Merrylegs' stall, and put down the lantern at their feet,\nthat I might not be disturbed with the light.\n\nFor awhile both men sat silent, and then Tom Green said in a low voice:\n\n\"I wish, John, you'd say a bit of a kind word to Joe. The boy is quite\nbroken-hearted; he can't eat his meals, and he can't smile. He says he\nknows it was all his fault, though he is sure he did the best he knew,\nand he says if Beauty dies no one will ever speak to him again. It goes\nto my heart to hear him. I think you might give him just a word; he is\nnot a bad boy.\"\n\nAfter a short pause John said slowly, \"You must not be too hard upon me,\nTom. I know he meant no harm, I never said he did; I know he is not a\nbad boy. But you see, I am sore myself; that horse is the pride of my\nheart, to say nothing of his being such a favorite with the master and\nmistress; and to think that his life may be flung away in this manner is\nmore than I can bear. But if you think I am hard on the boy I will try\nto give him a good word to-morrow--that is, I mean if Beauty is better.\"\n\n\"Well, John, thank you. I knew you did not wish to be too hard, and I am\nglad you see it was only ignorance.\"\n\nJohn's voice almost startled me as he answered:\n\n\"Only ignorance! only ignorance! how can you talk about only ignorance?\nDon't you know that it is the worst thing in the world, next to\nwickedness?--and which does the most mischief heaven only knows. If\npeople can say, 'Oh! I did not know, I did not mean any harm,' they\nthink it is all right. I suppose Martha Mulwash did not mean to kill\nthat baby when she dosed it with Dalby and soothing syrups; but she did\nkill it, and was tried for manslaughter.\"\n\n\"And serve her right, too,\" said Tom. \"A woman should not undertake to\nnurse a tender little child without knowing what is good and what is bad\nfor it.\"\n\n\"Bill Starkey,\" continued John, \"did not mean to frighten his brother\ninto fits when he dressed up like a ghost and ran after him in the\nmoonlight; but he did; and that bright, handsome little fellow, that\nmight have been the pride of any mother's heart is just no better than\nan idiot, and never will be, if he lives to be eighty years old. You\nwere a good deal cut up yourself, Tom, two weeks ago, when those young\nladies left your hothouse door open, with a frosty east wind blowing\nright in; you said it killed a good many of your plants.\"\n\n\"A good many!\" said Tom; \"there was not one of the tender cuttings that\nwas not nipped off. I shall have to strike all over again, and the worst\nof it is that I don't know where to go to get fresh ones. I was nearly\nmad when I came in and saw what was done.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" said John, \"I am sure the young ladies did not mean it; it\nwas only ignorance.\"\n\nI heard no more of this conversation, for the medicine did well and sent\nme to sleep, and in the morning I felt much better; but I often thought\nof John's words when I came to know more of the world.\n\n\n\n\n20 Joe Green\n\n\nJoe Green went on very well; he learned quickly, and was so attentive\nand careful that John began to trust him in many things; but as I have\nsaid, he was small of his age, and it was seldom that he was allowed to\nexercise either Ginger or me; but it so happened one morning that John\nwas out with Justice in the luggage cart, and the master wanted a\nnote to be taken immediately to a gentleman's house, about three miles\ndistant, and sent his orders for Joe to saddle me and take it, adding\nthe caution that he was to ride steadily.\n\nThe note was delivered, and we were quietly returning when we came\nto the brick-field. Here we saw a cart heavily laden with bricks; the\nwheels had stuck fast in the stiff mud of some deep ruts, and the carter\nwas shouting and flogging the two horses unmercifully. Joe pulled up. It\nwas a sad sight. There were the two horses straining and struggling with\nall their might to drag the cart out, but they could not move it; the\nsweat streamed from their legs and flanks, their sides heaved, and every\nmuscle was strained, while the man, fiercely pulling at the head of the\nfore horse, swore and lashed most brutally.\n\n\"Hold hard,\" said Joe; \"don't go on flogging the horses like that; the\nwheels are so stuck that they cannot move the cart.\"\n\nThe man took no heed, but went on lashing.\n\n\"Stop! pray stop!\" said Joe. \"I'll help you to lighten the cart; they\ncan't move it now.\"\n\n\"Mind your own business, you impudent young rascal, and I'll mind mine!\"\nThe man was in a towering passion and the worse for drink, and laid on\nthe whip again. Joe turned my head, and the next moment we were going at\na round gallop toward the house of the master brick-maker. I cannot say\nif John would have approved of our pace, but Joe and I were both of one\nmind, and so angry that we could not have gone slower.\n\nThe house stood close by the roadside. Joe knocked at the door, and\nshouted, \"Halloo! Is Mr. Clay at home?\" The door was opened, and Mr.\nClay himself came out.\n\n\"Halloo, young man! You seem in a hurry; any orders from the squire this\nmorning?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Clay, but there's a fellow in your brick-yard flogging two\nhorses to death. I told him to stop, and he wouldn't; I said I'd help\nhim to lighten the cart, and he wouldn't; so I have come to tell you.\nPray, sir, go.\" Joe's voice shook with excitement.\n\n\"Thank ye, my lad,\" said the man, running in for his hat; then pausing\nfor a moment, \"Will you give evidence of what you saw if I should bring\nthe fellow up before a magistrate?\"\n\n\"That I will,\" said Joe, \"and glad too.\" The man was gone, and we were\non our way home at a smart trot.\n\n\"Why, what's the matter with you, Joe? You look angry all over,\" said\nJohn, as the boy flung himself from the saddle.\n\n\"I am angry all over, I can tell you,\" said the boy, and then in\nhurried, excited words he told all that had happened. Joe was usually\nsuch a quiet, gentle little fellow that it was wonderful to see him so\nroused.\n\n\"Right, Joe! you did right, my boy, whether the fellow gets a summons or\nnot. Many folks would have ridden by and said it was not their\nbusiness to interfere. Now I say that with cruelty and oppression it is\neverybody's business to interfere when they see it; you did right, my\nboy.\"\n\nJoe was quite calm by this time, and proud that John approved of him,\nand cleaned out my feet and rubbed me down with a firmer hand than\nusual.\n\nThey were just going home to dinner when the footman came down to the\nstable to say that Joe was wanted directly in master's private room;\nthere was a man brought up for ill-using horses, and Joe's evidence was\nwanted. The boy flushed up to his forehead, and his eyes sparkled. \"They\nshall have it,\" said he.\n\n\"Put yourself a bit straight,\" said John. Joe gave a pull at his necktie\nand a twitch at his jacket, and was off in a moment. Our master being\none of the county magistrates, cases were often brought to him to\nsettle, or say what should be done. In the stable we heard no more for\nsome time, as it was the men's dinner hour, but when Joe came next into\nthe stable I saw he was in high spirits; he gave me a good-natured slap,\nand said, \"We won't see such things done, will we, old fellow?\" We heard\nafterward that he had given his evidence so clearly, and the horses were\nin such an exhausted state, bearing marks of such brutal usage, that the\ncarter was committed to take his trial, and might possibly be sentenced\nto two or three months in prison.\n\nIt was wonderful what a change had come over Joe. John laughed, and said\nhe had grown an inch taller in that week, and I believe he had. He\nwas just as kind and gentle as before, but there was more purpose and\ndetermination in all that he did--as if he had jumped at once from a boy\ninto a man.\n\n\n\n\n21 The Parting\n\n\nNow I had lived in this happy place three years, but sad changes were\nabout to come over us. We heard from time to time that our mistress was\nill. The doctor was often at the house, and the master looked grave and\nanxious. Then we heard that she must leave her home at once, and go to\na warm country for two or three years. The news fell upon the household\nlike the tolling of a deathbell. Everybody was sorry; but the master\nbegan directly to make arrangements for breaking up his establishment\nand leaving England. We used to hear it talked about in our stable;\nindeed, nothing else was talked about.\n\nJohn went about his work silent and sad, and Joe scarcely whistled.\nThere was a great deal of coming and going; Ginger and I had full work.\n\nThe first of the party who went were Miss Jessie and Flora, with their\ngoverness. They came to bid us good-by. They hugged poor Merrylegs\nlike an old friend, and so indeed he was. Then we heard what had been\narranged for us. Master had sold Ginger and me to his old friend,\nthe Earl of W----, for he thought we should have a good place there.\nMerrylegs he had given to the vicar, who was wanting a pony for Mrs.\nBlomefield, but it was on the condition that he should never be sold,\nand that when he was past work he should be shot and buried.\n\nJoe was engaged to take care of him and to help in the house, so I\nthought that Merrylegs was well off. John had the offer of several good\nplaces, but he said he should wait a little and look round.\n\nThe evening before they left the master came into the stable to give\nsome directions, and to give his horses the last pat. He seemed very\nlow-spirited; I knew that by his voice. I believe we horses can tell\nmore by the voice than many men can.\n\n\"Have you decided what to do, John?\" he said. \"I find you have not\naccepted either of those offers.\"\n\n\"No, sir; I have made up my mind that if I could get a situation with\nsome first-rate colt-breaker and horse-trainer, it would be the right\nthing for me. Many young animals are frightened and spoiled by wrong\ntreatment, which need not be if the right man took them in hand. I\nalways get on well with horses, and if I could help some of them to a\nfair start I should feel as if I was doing some good. What do you think\nof it, sir?\"\n\n\"I don't know a man anywhere,\" said master, \"that I should think so\nsuitable for it as yourself. You understand horses, and somehow they\nunderstand you, and in time you might set up for yourself; I think you\ncould not do better. If in any way I can help you, write to me. I shall\nspeak to my agent in London, and leave your character with him.\"\n\nMaster gave John the name and address, and then he thanked him for his\nlong and faithful service; but that was too much for John. \"Pray, don't,\nsir, I can't bear it; you and my dear mistress have done so much for\nme that I could never repay it. But we shall never forget you, sir, and\nplease God, we may some day see mistress back again like herself; we\nmust keep up hope, sir.\" Master gave John his hand, but he did not\nspeak, and they both left the stable.\n\nThe last sad day had come; the footman and the heavy luggage had gone\noff the day before, and there were only master and mistress and her\nmaid. Ginger and I brought the carriage up to the hall door for the last\ntime. The servants brought out cushions and rugs and many other things;\nand when all were arranged master came down the steps carrying the\nmistress in his arms (I was on the side next to the house, and could see\nall that went on); he placed her carefully in the carriage, while the\nhouse servants stood round crying.\n\n\"Good-by, again,\" he said; \"we shall not forget any of you,\" and he got\nin. \"Drive on, John.\"\n\nJoe jumped up, and we trotted slowly through the park and through the\nvillage, where the people were standing at their doors to have a last\nlook and to say, \"God bless them.\"\n\nWhen we reached the railway station I think mistress walked from the\ncarriage to the waiting-room. I heard her say in her own sweet voice,\n\"Good-by, John. God bless you.\" I felt the rein twitch, but John made no\nanswer; perhaps he could not speak. As soon as Joe had taken the things\nout of the carriage John called him to stand by the horses, while he\nwent on the platform. Poor Joe! he stood close up to our heads to hide\nhis tears. Very soon the train came puffing up into the station; then\ntwo or three minutes, and the doors were slammed to, the guard whistled,\nand the train glided away, leaving behind it only clouds of white smoke\nand some very heavy hearts.\n\nWhen it was quite out of sight John came back.\n\n\"We shall never see her again,\" he said--\"never.\" He took the reins,\nmounted the box, and with Joe drove slowly home; but it was not our home\nnow.\n\n\n\n\nPart II\n\n\n\n\n22 Earlshall\n\n\nThe next morning after breakfast Joe put Merrylegs into the mistress'\nlow chaise to take him to the vicarage; he came first and said good-by\nto us, and Merrylegs neighed to us from the yard. Then John put the\nsaddle on Ginger and the leading rein on me, and rode us across the\ncountry about fifteen miles to Earlshall Park, where the Earl of W----\nlived. There was a very fine house and a great deal of stabling. We went\ninto the yard through a stone gateway, and John asked for Mr. York. It\nwas some time before he came. He was a fine-looking, middle-aged man,\nand his voice said at once that he expected to be obeyed. He was very\nfriendly and polite to John, and after giving us a slight look he\ncalled a groom to take us to our boxes, and invited John to take some\nrefreshment.\n\nWe were taken to a light, airy stable, and placed in boxes adjoining\neach other, where we were rubbed down and fed. In about half an hour\nJohn and Mr. York, who was to be our new coachman, came in to see us.\n\n\"Now, Mr. Manly,\" he said, after carefully looking at us both, \"I can\nsee no fault in these horses; but we all know that horses have their\npeculiarities as well as men, and that sometimes they need different\ntreatment. I should like to know if there is anything particular in\neither of these that you would like to mention.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said John, \"I don't believe there is a better pair of horses in\nthe country, and right grieved I am to part with them, but they are not\nalike. The black one is the most perfect temper I ever knew; I suppose\nhe has never known a hard word or a blow since he was foaled, and all\nhis pleasure seems to be to do what you wish; but the chestnut, I fancy,\nmust have had bad treatment; we heard as much from the dealer. She came\nto us snappish and suspicious, but when she found what sort of place\nours was, it all went off by degrees; for three years I have never seen\nthe smallest sign of temper, and if she is well treated there is not\na better, more willing animal than she is. But she is naturally a more\nirritable constitution than the black horse; flies tease her more;\nanything wrong in the harness frets her more; and if she were ill-used\nor unfairly treated she would not be unlikely to give tit for tat. You\nknow that many high-mettled horses will do so.\"\n\n\"Of course,\" said York, \"I quite understand; but you know it is not easy\nin stables like these to have all the grooms just what they should be. I\ndo my best, and there I must leave it. I'll remember what you have said\nabout the mare.\"\n\nThey were going out of the stable, when John stopped and said, \"I had\nbetter mention that we have never used the check-rein with either of\nthem; the black horse never had one on, and the dealer said it was the\ngag-bit that spoiled the other's temper.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said York, \"if they come here they must wear the check-rein. I\nprefer a loose rein myself, and his lordship is always very reasonable\nabout horses; but my lady--that's another thing; she will have style,\nand if her carriage horses are not reined up tight she wouldn't look at\nthem. I always stand out against the gag-bit, and shall do so, but it\nmust be tight up when my lady rides!\"\n\n\"I am sorry for it, very sorry,\" said John; \"but I must go now, or I\nshall lose the train.\"\n\nHe came round to each of us to pat and speak to us for the last time;\nhis voice sounded very sad.\n\nI held my face close to him; that was all I could do to say good-by; and\nthen he was gone, and I have never seen him since.\n\nThe next day Lord W---- came to look at us; he seemed pleased with our\nappearance.\n\n\"I have great confidence in these horses,\" he said, \"from the character\nmy friend Mr. Gordon has given me of them. Of course they are not a\nmatch in color, but my idea is that they will do very well for the\ncarriage while we are in the country. Before we go to London I must try\nto match Baron; the black horse, I believe, is perfect for riding.\"\n\nYork then told him what John had said about us.\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"you must keep an eye to the mare, and put the\ncheck-rein easy; I dare say they will do very well with a little\nhumoring at first. I'll mention it to your lady.\"\n\nIn the afternoon we were harnessed and put in the carriage, and as the\nstable clock struck three we were led round to the front of the house.\nIt was all very grand, and three or four times as large as the old house\nat Birtwick, but not half so pleasant, if a horse may have an opinion.\nTwo footmen were standing ready, dressed in drab livery, with scarlet\nbreeches and white stockings. Presently we heard the rustling sound of\nsilk as my lady came down the flight of stone steps. She stepped round\nto look at us; she was a tall, proud-looking woman, and did not\nseem pleased about something, but she said nothing, and got into the\ncarriage. This was the first time of wearing a check-rein, and I must\nsay, though it certainly was a nuisance not to be able to get my head\ndown now and then, it did not pull my head higher than I was accustomed\nto carry it. I felt anxious about Ginger, but she seemed to be quiet and\ncontent.\n\nThe next day at three o'clock we were again at the door, and the footmen\nas before; we heard the silk dress rustle and the lady came down the\nsteps, and in an imperious voice she said, \"York, you must put those\nhorses' heads higher; they are not fit to be seen.\"\n\nYork got down, and said very respectfully, \"I beg your pardon, my lady,\nbut these horses have not been reined up for three years, and my lord\nsaid it would be safer to bring them to it by degrees; but if your\nladyship pleases I can take them up a little more.\"\n\n\"Do so,\" she said.\n\nYork came round to our heads and shortened the rein himself--one hole,\nI think; every little makes a difference, be it for better or worse, and\nthat day we had a steep hill to go up. Then I began to understand what\nI had heard of. Of course, I wanted to put my head forward and take the\ncarriage up with a will, as we had been used to do; but no, I had to\npull with my head up now, and that took all the spirit out of me, and\nthe strain came on my back and legs. When we came in Ginger said, \"Now\nyou see what it is like; but this is not bad, and if it does not get\nmuch worse than this I shall say nothing about it, for we are very well\ntreated here; but if they strain me up tight, why, let 'em look out! I\ncan't bear it, and I won't.\"\n\nDay by day, hole by hole, our bearing reins were shortened, and instead\nof looking forward with pleasure to having my harness put on, as I used\nto do, I began to dread it. Ginger, too, seemed restless, though she\nsaid very little. At last I thought the worst was over; for several days\nthere was no more shortening, and I determined to make the best of\nit and do my duty, though it was now a constant harass instead of a\npleasure; but the worst was not come.\n\n\n\n\n23 A Strike for Liberty\n\n\nOne day my lady came down later than usual, and the silk rustled more\nthan ever.\n\n\"Drive to the Duchess of B----'s,\" she said, and then after a pause,\n\"Are you never going to get those horses' heads up, York? Raise them at\nonce and let us have no more of this humoring and nonsense.\"\n\nYork came to me first, while the groom stood at Ginger's head. He drew\nmy head back and fixed the rein so tight that it was almost intolerable;\nthen he went to Ginger, who was impatiently jerking her head up and down\nagainst the bit, as was her way now. She had a good idea of what was\ncoming, and the moment York took the rein off the terret in order to\nshorten it she took her opportunity and reared up so suddenly that York\nhad his nose roughly hit and his hat knocked off; the groom was nearly\nthrown off his legs. At once they both flew to her head; but she was\na match for them, and went on plunging, rearing, and kicking in a most\ndesperate manner. At last she kicked right over the carriage pole and\nfell down, after giving me a severe blow on my near quarter. There is no\nknowing what further mischief she might have done had not York promptly\nsat himself down flat on her head to prevent her struggling, at the\nsame time calling out, \"Unbuckle the black horse! Run for the winch and\nunscrew the carriage pole! Cut the trace here, somebody, if you can't\nunhitch it!\" One of the footmen ran for the winch, and another brought\na knife from the house. The groom soon set me free from Ginger and the\ncarriage, and led me to my box. He just turned me in as I was and ran\nback to York. I was much excited by what had happened, and if I had ever\nbeen used to kick or rear I am sure I should have done it then; but\nI never had, and there I stood, angry, sore in my leg, my head still\nstrained up to the terret on the saddle, and no power to get it down. I\nwas very miserable and felt much inclined to kick the first person who\ncame near me.\n\nBefore long, however, Ginger was led in by two grooms, a good deal\nknocked about and bruised. York came with her and gave his orders, and\nthen came to look at me. In a moment he let down my head.\n\n\"Confound these check-reins!\" he said to himself; \"I thought we should\nhave some mischief soon. Master will be sorely vexed. But there, if a\nwoman's husband can't rule her of course a servant can't; so I wash my\nhands of it, and if she can't get to the duchess' garden party I can't\nhelp it.\"\n\nYork did not say this before the men; he always spoke respectfully when\nthey were by. Now he felt me all over, and soon found the place above my\nhock where I had been kicked. It was swelled and painful; he ordered it\nto be sponged with hot water, and then some lotion was put on.\n\nLord W---- was much put out when he learned what had happened; he blamed\nYork for giving way to his mistress, to which he replied that in future\nhe would much prefer to receive his orders only from his lordship; but\nI think nothing came of it, for things went on the same as before. I\nthought York might have stood up better for his horses, but perhaps I am\nno judge.\n\nGinger was never put into the carriage again, but when she was well of\nher bruises one of the Lord W----'s younger sons said he should like\nto have her; he was sure she would make a good hunter. As for me, I was\nobliged still to go in the carriage, and had a fresh partner called Max;\nhe had always been used to the tight rein. I asked him how it was he\nbore it.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"I bear it because I must; but it is shortening my\nlife, and it will shorten yours too if you have to stick to it.\"\n\n\"Do you think,\" I said, \"that our masters know how bad it is for us?\"\n\n\"I can't say,\" he replied, \"but the dealers and the horse-doctors know\nit very well. I was at a dealer's once, who was training me and another\nhorse to go as a pair; he was getting our heads up, as he said, a little\nhigher and a little higher every day. A gentleman who was there asked\nhim why he did so. 'Because,' said he, 'people won't buy them unless we\ndo. The London people always want their horses to carry their heads high\nand to step high. Of course it is very bad for the horses, but then it\nis good for trade. The horses soon wear up, or get diseased, and they\ncome for another pair.' That,\" said Max, \"is what he said in my hearing,\nand you can judge for yourself.\"\n\nWhat I suffered with that rein for four long months in my lady's\ncarriage it would be hard to describe; but I am quite sure that, had it\nlasted much longer, either my health or my temper would have given way.\nBefore that, I never knew what it was to foam at the mouth, but now\nthe action of the sharp bit on my tongue and jaw, and the constrained\nposition of my head and throat, always caused me to froth at the mouth\nmore or less. Some people think it very fine to see this, and say, \"What\nfine spirited creatures!\" But it is just as unnatural for horses as\nfor men to foam at the mouth; it is a sure sign of some discomfort,\nand should be attended to. Besides this, there was a pressure on my\nwindpipe, which often made my breathing very uncomfortable; when I\nreturned from my work my neck and chest were strained and painful, my\nmouth and tongue tender, and I felt worn and depressed.\n\nIn my old home I always knew that John and my master were my friends;\nbut here, although in many ways I was well treated, I had no friend.\nYork might have known, and very likely did know, how that rein harassed\nme; but I suppose he took it as a matter of course that it could not be\nhelped; at any rate, nothing was done to relieve me.\n\n\n\n\n24 The Lady Anne, or a Runaway Horse\n\n\nEarly in the spring, Lord W---- and part of his family went up to\nLondon, and took York with them. I and Ginger and some other horses were\nleft at home for use, and the head groom was left in charge.\n\nThe Lady Harriet, who remained at the hall, was a great invalid, and\nnever went out in the carriage, and the Lady Anne preferred riding on\nhorseback with her brother or cousins. She was a perfect horsewoman, and\nas gay and gentle as she was beautiful. She chose me for her horse, and\nnamed me \"Black Auster\". I enjoyed these rides very much in the clear\ncold air, sometimes with Ginger, sometimes with Lizzie. This Lizzie was\na bright bay mare, almost thoroughbred, and a great favorite with the\ngentlemen, on account of her fine action and lively spirit; but Ginger,\nwho knew more of her than I did, told me she was rather nervous.\n\nThere was a gentleman of the name of Blantyre staying at the hall;\nhe always rode Lizzie, and praised her so much that one day Lady Anne\nordered the side-saddle to be put on her, and the other saddle on me.\nWhen we came to the door the gentleman seemed very uneasy.\n\n\"How is this?\" he said. \"Are you tired of your good Black Auster?\"\n\n\"Oh, no, not at all,\" she replied, \"but I am amiable enough to let you\nride him for once, and I will try your charming Lizzie. You must confess\nthat in size and appearance she is far more like a lady's horse than my\nown favorite.\"\n\n\"Do let me advise you not to mount her,\" he said; \"she is a charming\ncreature, but she is too nervous for a lady. I assure you, she is not\nperfectly safe; let me beg you to have the saddles changed.\"\n\n\"My dear cousin,\" said Lady Anne, laughing, \"pray do not trouble your\ngood careful head about me. I have been a horsewoman ever since I was a\nbaby, and I have followed the hounds a great many times, though I know\nyou do not approve of ladies hunting; but still that is the fact, and\nI intend to try this Lizzie that you gentlemen are all so fond of; so\nplease help me to mount, like a good friend as you are.\"\n\nThere was no more to be said; he placed her carefully on the saddle,\nlooked to the bit and curb, gave the reins gently into her hand, and\nthen mounted me. Just as we were moving off a footman came out with a\nslip of paper and message from the Lady Harriet. \"Would they ask this\nquestion for her at Dr. Ashley's, and bring the answer?\"\n\nThe village was about a mile off, and the doctor's house was the last\nin it. We went along gayly enough till we came to his gate. There was a\nshort drive up to the house between tall evergreens.\n\nBlantyre alighted at the gate, and was going to open it for Lady Anne,\nbut she said, \"I will wait for you here, and you can hang Auster's rein\non the gate.\"\n\nHe looked at her doubtfully. \"I will not be five minutes,\" he said.\n\n\"Oh, do not hurry yourself; Lizzie and I shall not run away from you.\"\n\nHe hung my rein on one of the iron spikes, and was soon hidden among the\ntrees. Lizzie was standing quietly by the side of the road a few paces\noff, with her back to me. My young mistress was sitting easily with a\nloose rein, humming a little song. I listened to my rider's footsteps\nuntil they reached the house, and heard him knock at the door. There was\na meadow on the opposite side of the road, the gate of which stood open;\njust then some cart horses and several young colts came trotting out in\na very disorderly manner, while a boy behind was cracking a great whip.\nThe colts were wild and frolicsome, and one of them bolted across the\nroad and blundered up against Lizzie's hind legs, and whether it was\nthe stupid colt, or the loud cracking of the whip, or both together, I\ncannot say, but she gave a violent kick, and dashed off into a headlong\ngallop. It was so sudden that Lady Anne was nearly unseated, but she\nsoon recovered herself. I gave a loud, shrill neigh for help; again and\nagain I neighed, pawing the ground impatiently, and tossing my head to\nget the rein loose. I had not long to wait. Blantyre came running to\nthe gate; he looked anxiously about, and just caught sight of the flying\nfigure, now far away on the road. In an instant he sprang to the saddle.\nI needed no whip, no spur, for I was as eager as my rider; he saw it,\nand giving me a free rein, and leaning a little forward, we dashed after\nthem.\n\nFor about a mile and a half the road ran straight, and then bent to the\nright, after which it divided into two roads. Long before we came to\nthe bend she was out of sight. Which way had she turned? A woman was\nstanding at her garden gate, shading her eyes with her hand, and looking\neagerly up the road. Scarcely drawing the rein, Blantyre shouted, \"Which\nway?\" \"To the right!\" cried the woman, pointing with her hand, and away\nwe went up the right-hand road; then for a moment we caught sight of\nher; another bend and she was hidden again. Several times we caught\nglimpses, and then lost them. We scarcely seemed to gain ground upon\nthem at all. An old road-mender was standing near a heap of stones, his\nshovel dropped and his hands raised. As we came near he made a sign to\nspeak. Blantyre drew the rein a little. \"To the common, to the common,\nsir; she has turned off there.\" I knew this common very well; it was for\nthe most part very uneven ground, covered with heather and dark-green\nfurze bushes, with here and there a scrubby old thorn-tree; there were\nalso open spaces of fine short grass, with ant-hills and mole-turns\neverywhere; the worst place I ever knew for a headlong gallop.\n\nWe had hardly turned on the common, when we caught sight again of the\ngreen habit flying on before us. My lady's hat was gone, and her long\nbrown hair was streaming behind her. Her head and body were thrown back,\nas if she were pulling with all her remaining strength, and as if that\nstrength were nearly exhausted. It was clear that the roughness of the\nground had very much lessened Lizzie's speed, and there seemed a chance\nthat we might overtake her.\n\nWhile we were on the highroad, Blantyre had given me my head; but now,\nwith a light hand and a practiced eye, he guided me over the ground in\nsuch a masterly manner that my pace was scarcely slackened, and we were\ndecidedly gaining on them.\n\nAbout halfway across the heath there had been a wide dike recently cut,\nand the earth from the cutting was cast up roughly on the other side.\nSurely this would stop them! But no; with scarcely a pause Lizzie took\nthe leap, stumbled among the rough clods and fell. Blantyre groaned,\n\"Now, Auster, do your best!\" He gave me a steady rein. I gathered myself\nwell together and with one determined leap cleared both dike and bank.\n\nMotionless among the heather, with her face to the earth, lay my poor\nyoung mistress. Blantyre kneeled down and called her name: there was no\nsound. Gently he turned her face upward: it was ghastly white and\nthe eyes were closed. \"Annie, dear Annie, do speak!\" But there was no\nanswer. He unbuttoned her habit, loosened her collar, felt her hands and\nwrist, then started up and looked wildly round him for help.\n\nAt no great distance there were two men cutting turf, who, seeing Lizzie\nrunning wild without a rider, had left their work to catch her.\n\nBlantyre's halloo soon brought them to the spot. The foremost man seemed\nmuch troubled at the sight, and asked what he could do.\n\n\"Can you ride?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, I bean't much of a horseman, but I'd risk my neck for the\nLady Anne; she was uncommon good to my wife in the winter.\"\n\n\"Then mount this horse, my friend--your neck will be quite safe--and\nride to the doctor's and ask him to come instantly; then on to the hall;\ntell them all that you know, and bid them send me the carriage, with\nLady Anne's maid and help. I shall stay here.\"\n\n\"All right, sir, I'll do my best, and I pray God the dear young lady may\nopen her eyes soon.\" Then, seeing the other man, he called out, \"Here,\nJoe, run for some water, and tell my missis to come as quick as she can\nto the Lady Anne.\"\n\nHe then somehow scrambled into the saddle, and with a \"Gee up\" and a\nclap on my sides with both his legs, he started on his journey, making\na little circuit to avoid the dike. He had no whip, which seemed to\ntrouble him; but my pace soon cured that difficulty, and he found the\nbest thing he could do was to stick to the saddle and hold me in, which\nhe did manfully. I shook him as little as I could help, but once or\ntwice on the rough ground he called out, \"Steady! Woah! Steady!\" On the\nhighroad we were all right; and at the doctor's and the hall he did his\nerrand like a good man and true. They asked him in to take a drop of\nsomething. \"No, no,\" he said; \"I'll be back to 'em again by a short cut\nthrough the fields, and be there afore the carriage.\"\n\nThere was a great deal of hurry and excitement after the news became\nknown. I was just turned into my box; the saddle and bridle were taken\noff, and a cloth thrown over me.\n\nGinger was saddled and sent off in great haste for Lord George, and I\nsoon heard the carriage roll out of the yard.\n\nIt seemed a long time before Ginger came back, and before we were left\nalone; and then she told me all that she had seen.\n\n\"I can't tell much,\" she said. \"We went a gallop nearly all the way, and\ngot there just as the doctor rode up. There was a woman sitting on the\nground with the lady's head in her lap. The doctor poured something into\nher mouth, but all that I heard was, 'She is not dead.' Then I was led\noff by a man to a little distance. After awhile she was taken to\nthe carriage, and we came home together. I heard my master say to\na gentleman who stopped him to inquire, that he hoped no bones were\nbroken, but that she had not spoken yet.\"\n\nWhen Lord George took Ginger for hunting, York shook his head; he said\nit ought to be a steady hand to train a horse for the first season, and\nnot a random rider like Lord George.\n\nGinger used to like it very much, but sometimes when she came back I\ncould see that she had been very much strained, and now and then she\ngave a short cough. She had too much spirit to complain, but I could not\nhelp feeling anxious about her.\n\nTwo days after the accident Blantyre paid me a visit; he patted me and\npraised me very much; he told Lord George that he was sure the horse\nknew of Annie's danger as well as he did. \"I could not have held him in\nif I would,\" said he, \"she ought never to ride any other horse.\" I found\nby their conversation that my young mistress was now out of danger, and\nwould soon be able to ride again. This was good news to me and I looked\nforward to a happy life.\n\n\n\n\n25 Reuben Smith\n\n\nNow I must say a little about Reuben Smith, who was left in charge of\nthe stables when York went to London. No one more thoroughly understood\nhis business than he did, and when he was all right there could not be\na more faithful or valuable man. He was gentle and very clever in his\nmanagement of horses, and could doctor them almost as well as a\nfarrier, for he had lived two years with a veterinary surgeon. He was a\nfirst-rate driver; he could take a four-in-hand or a tandem as easily\nas a pair. He was a handsome man, a good scholar, and had very pleasant\nmanners. I believe everybody liked him; certainly the horses did. The\nonly wonder was that he should be in an under situation and not in the\nplace of a head coachman like York; but he had one great fault and that\nwas the love of drink. He was not like some men, always at it; he used\nto keep steady for weeks or months together, and then he would break\nout and have a \"bout\" of it, as York called it, and be a disgrace to\nhimself, a terror to his wife, and a nuisance to all that had to do with\nhim. He was, however, so useful that two or three times York had hushed\nthe matter up and kept it from the earl's knowledge; but one night, when\nReuben had to drive a party home from a ball he was so drunk that he\ncould not hold the reins, and a gentleman of the party had to mount the\nbox and drive the ladies home. Of course, this could not be hidden, and\nReuben was at once dismissed; his poor wife and little children had to\nturn out of the pretty cottage by the park gate and go where they could.\nOld Max told me all this, for it happened a good while ago; but shortly\nbefore Ginger and I came Smith had been taken back again. York had\ninterceded for him with the earl, who is very kind-hearted, and the man\nhad promised faithfully that he would never taste another drop as long\nas he lived there. He had kept his promise so well that York thought he\nmight be safely trusted to fill his place while he was away, and he was\nso clever and honest that no one else seemed so well fitted for it.\n\nIt was now early in April, and the family was expected home some time in\nMay. The light brougham was to be fresh done up, and as Colonel Blantyre\nwas obliged to return to his regiment it was arranged that Smith should\ndrive him to the town in it, and ride back; for this purpose he took the\nsaddle with him, and I was chosen for the journey. At the station the\ncolonel put some money into Smith's hand and bid him good-by, saying,\n\"Take care of your young mistress, Reuben, and don't let Black Auster be\nhacked about by any random young prig that wants to ride him--keep him\nfor the lady.\"\n\nWe left the carriage at the maker's, and Smith rode me to the White\nLion, and ordered the hostler to feed me well, and have me ready for him\nat four o'clock. A nail in one of my front shoes had started as I came\nalong, but the hostler did not notice it till just about four o'clock.\nSmith did not come into the yard till five, and then he said he should\nnot leave till six, as he had met with some old friends. The man then\ntold him of the nail, and asked if he should have the shoe looked to.\n\n\"No,\" said Smith, \"that will be all right till we get home.\"\n\nHe spoke in a very loud, offhand way, and I thought it very unlike him\nnot to see about the shoe, as he was generally wonderfully particular\nabout loose nails in our shoes. He did not come at six nor seven, nor\neight, and it was nearly nine o'clock before he called for me, and then\nit was with a loud, rough voice. He seemed in a very bad temper, and\nabused the hostler, though I could not tell what for.\n\nThe landlord stood at the door and said, \"Have a care, Mr. Smith!\" but\nhe answered angrily with an oath; and almost before he was out of the\ntown he began to gallop, frequently giving me a sharp cut with his whip,\nthough I was going at full speed. The moon had not yet risen, and it was\nvery dark. The roads were stony, having been recently mended; going over\nthem at this pace, my shoe became looser, and as we neared the turnpike\ngate it came off.\n\nIf Smith had been in his right senses he would have been sensible of\nsomething wrong in my pace, but he was too drunk to notice.\n\nBeyond the turnpike was a long piece of road, upon which fresh stones\nhad just been laid--large sharp stones, over which no horse could be\ndriven quickly without risk of danger. Over this road, with one shoe\ngone, I was forced to gallop at my utmost speed, my rider meanwhile\ncutting into me with his whip, and with wild curses urging me to go\nstill faster. Of course my shoeless foot suffered dreadfully; the hoof\nwas broken and split down to the very quick, and the inside was terribly\ncut by the sharpness of the stones.\n\nThis could not go on; no horse could keep his footing under such\ncircumstances; the pain was too great. I stumbled, and fell with\nviolence on both my knees. Smith was flung off by my fall, and, owing to\nthe speed I was going at, he must have fallen with great force. I soon\nrecovered my feet and limped to the side of the road, where it was free\nfrom stones. The moon had just risen above the hedge, and by its light\nI could see Smith lying a few yards beyond me. He did not rise; he made\none slight effort to do so, and then there was a heavy groan. I could\nhave groaned, too, for I was suffering intense pain both from my foot\nand knees; but horses are used to bear their pain in silence. I uttered\nno sound, but I stood there and listened. One more heavy groan from\nSmith; but though he now lay in the full moonlight I could see no\nmotion. I could do nothing for him nor myself, but, oh! how I listened\nfor the sound of horse, or wheels, or footsteps! The road was not much\nfrequented, and at this time of the night we might stay for hours before\nhelp came to us. I stood watching and listening. It was a calm, sweet\nApril night; there were no sounds but a few low notes of a nightingale,\nand nothing moved but the white clouds near the moon and a brown owl\nthat flitted over the hedge. It made me think of the summer nights long\nago, when I used to lie beside my mother in the green pleasant meadow at\nFarmer Grey's.\n\n\n\n\n26 How it Ended\n\n\nIt must have been nearly midnight when I heard at a great distance the\nsound of a horse's feet. Sometimes the sound died away, then it grew\nclearer again and nearer. The road to Earlshall led through woods that\nbelonged to the earl; the sound came in that direction, and I hoped it\nmight be some one coming in search of us. As the sound came nearer and\nnearer I was almost sure I could distinguish Ginger's step; a little\nnearer still, and I could tell she was in the dog-cart. I neighed\nloudly, and was overjoyed to hear an answering neigh from Ginger, and\nmen's voices. They came slowly over the stones, and stopped at the dark\nfigure that lay upon the ground.\n\nOne of the men jumped out, and stooped down over it. \"It is Reuben,\" he\nsaid, \"and he does not stir!\"\n\nThe other man followed, and bent over him. \"He's dead,\" he said; \"feel\nhow cold his hands are.\"\n\nThey raised him up, but there was no life, and his hair was soaked with\nblood. They laid him down again, and came and looked at me. They soon\nsaw my cut knees.\n\n\"Why, the horse has been down and thrown him! Who would have thought the\nblack horse would have done that? Nobody thought he could fall. Reuben\nmust have been lying here for hours! Odd, too, that the horse has not\nmoved from the place.\"\n\nRobert then attempted to lead me forward. I made a step, but almost fell\nagain.\n\n\"Halloo! he's bad in his foot as well as his knees. Look here--his hoof\nis cut all to pieces; he might well come down, poor fellow! I tell you\nwhat, Ned, I'm afraid it hasn't been all right with Reuben. Just think\nof his riding a horse over these stones without a shoe! Why, if he had\nbeen in his right senses he would just as soon have tried to ride him\nover the moon. I'm afraid it has been the old thing over again. Poor\nSusan! she looked awfully pale when she came to my house to ask if\nhe had not come home. She made believe she was not a bit anxious, and\ntalked of a lot of things that might have kept him. But for all that she\nbegged me to go and meet him. But what must we do? There's the horse to\nget home as well as the body, and that will be no easy matter.\"\n\nThen followed a conversation between them, till it was agreed that\nRobert, as the groom, should lead me, and that Ned must take the body.\nIt was a hard job to get it into the dog-cart, for there was no one to\nhold Ginger; but she knew as well as I did what was going on, and stood\nas still as a stone. I noticed that, because, if she had a fault, it was\nthat she was impatient in standing.\n\nNed started off very slowly with his sad load, and Robert came and\nlooked at my foot again; then he took his handkerchief and bound it\nclosely round, and so he led me home. I shall never forget that night\nwalk; it was more than three miles. Robert led me on very slowly, and I\nlimped and hobbled on as well as I could with great pain. I am sure he\nwas sorry for me, for he often patted and encouraged me, talking to me\nin a pleasant voice.\n\nAt last I reached my own box, and had some corn; and after Robert\nhad wrapped up my knees in wet cloths, he tied up my foot in a bran\npoultice, to draw out the heat and cleanse it before the horse-doctor\nsaw it in the morning, and I managed to get myself down on the straw,\nand slept in spite of the pain.\n\nThe next day after the farrier had examined my wounds, he said he hoped\nthe joint was not injured; and if so, I should not be spoiled for work,\nbut I should never lose the blemish. I believe they did the best to make\na good cure, but it was a long and painful one. Proud flesh, as they\ncalled it, came up in my knees, and was burned out with caustic; and\nwhen at last it was healed, they put a blistering fluid over the front\nof both knees to bring all the hair off; they had some reason for this,\nand I suppose it was all right.\n\nAs Smith's death had been so sudden, and no one was there to see it,\nthere was an inquest held. The landlord and hostler at the White Lion,\nwith several other people, gave evidence that he was intoxicated when he\nstarted from the inn. The keeper of the toll-gate said he rode at a hard\ngallop through the gate; and my shoe was picked up among the stones, so\nthat the case was quite plain to them, and I was cleared of all blame.\n\nEverybody pitied Susan. She was nearly out of her mind; she kept saying\nover and over again, \"Oh! he was so good--so good! It was all that\ncursed drink; why will they sell that cursed drink? Oh Reuben, Reuben!\"\nSo she went on till after he was buried; and then, as she had no home or\nrelations, she, with her six little children, was obliged once more to\nleave the pleasant home by the tall oak-trees, and go into that great\ngloomy Union House.\n\n\n\n\n27 Ruined and Going Downhill\n\n\nAs soon as my knees were sufficiently healed I was turned into a small\nmeadow for a month or two; no other creature was there; and though I\nenjoyed the liberty and the sweet grass, yet I had been so long used to\nsociety that I felt very lonely. Ginger and I had become fast friends,\nand now I missed her company extremely. I often neighed when I heard\nhorses' feet passing in the road, but I seldom got an answer; till one\nmorning the gate was opened, and who should come in but dear old Ginger.\nThe man slipped off her halter, and left her there. With a joyful whinny\nI trotted up to her; we were both glad to meet, but I soon found that it\nwas not for our pleasure that she was brought to be with me. Her story\nwould be too long to tell, but the end of it was that she had been\nruined by hard riding, and was now turned off to see what rest would do.\n\nLord George was young and would take no warning; he was a hard rider,\nand would hunt whenever he could get the chance, quite careless of his\nhorse. Soon after I left the stable there was a steeplechase, and he\ndetermined to ride. Though the groom told him she was a little strained,\nand was not fit for the race, he did not believe it, and on the day of\nthe race urged Ginger to keep up with the foremost riders. With her high\nspirit, she strained herself to the utmost; she came in with the first\nthree horses, but her wind was touched, besides which he was too heavy\nfor her, and her back was strained. \"And so,\" she said, \"here we are,\nruined in the prime of our youth and strength, you by a drunkard, and I\nby a fool; it is very hard.\" We both felt in ourselves that we were not\nwhat we had been. However, that did not spoil the pleasure we had in\neach other's company; we did not gallop about as we once did, but we\nused to feed, and lie down together, and stand for hours under one\nof the shady lime-trees with our heads close to each other; and so we\npassed our time till the family returned from town.\n\nOne day we saw the earl come into the meadow, and York was with him.\nSeeing who it was, we stood still under our lime-tree, and let them come\nup to us. They examined us carefully. The earl seemed much annoyed.\n\n\"There is three hundred pounds flung away for no earthly use,\" said he;\n\"but what I care most for is that these horses of my old friend, who\nthought they would find a good home with me, are ruined. The mare shall\nhave a twelve-month's run, and we shall see what that will do for her;\nbut the black one, he must be sold; 'tis a great pity, but I could not\nhave knees like these in my stables.\"\n\n\"No, my lord, of course not,\" said York; \"but he might get a place where\nappearance is not of much consequence, and still be well treated. I know\na man in Bath, the master of some livery stables, who often wants a\ngood horse at a low figure; I know he looks well after his horses.\nThe inquest cleared the horse's character, and your lordship's\nrecommendation, or mine, would be sufficient warrant for him.\"\n\n\"You had better write to him, York. I should be more particular about\nthe place than the money he would fetch.\"\n\nAfter this they left us.\n\n\"They'll soon take you away,\" said Ginger, \"and I shall lose the only\nfriend I have, and most likely we shall never see each other again. 'Tis\na hard world!\"\n\nAbout a week after this Robert came into the field with a halter, which\nhe slipped over my head, and led me away. There was no leave-taking\nof Ginger; we neighed to each other as I was led off, and she trotted\nanxiously along by the hedge, calling to me as long as she could hear\nthe sound of my feet.\n\nThrough the recommendation of York, I was bought by the master of the\nlivery stables. I had to go by train, which was new to me, and required\na good deal of courage the first time; but as I found the puffing,\nrushing, whistling, and, more than all, the trembling of the horse-box\nin which I stood did me no real harm, I soon took it quietly.\n\nWhen I reached the end of my journey I found myself in a tolerably\ncomfortable stable, and well attended to. These stables were not so\nairy and pleasant as those I had been used to. The stalls were laid on\na slope instead of being level, and as my head was kept tied to the\nmanger, I was obliged always to stand on the slope, which was very\nfatiguing. Men do not seem to know yet that horses can do more work if\nthey can stand comfortably and can turn about; however, I was well fed\nand well cleaned, and, on the whole, I think our master took as much\ncare of us as he could. He kept a good many horses and carriages of\ndifferent kinds for hire. Sometimes his own men drove them; at\nothers, the horse and chaise were let to gentlemen or ladies who drove\nthemselves.\n\n\n\n\n28 A Job Horse and His Drivers\n\n\nHitherto I had always been driven by people who at least knew how to\ndrive; but in this place I was to get my experience of all the different\nkinds of bad and ignorant driving to which we horses are subjected; for\nI was a \"job horse\", and was let out to all sorts of people who wished\nto hire me; and as I was good-tempered and gentle, I think I was oftener\nlet out to the ignorant drivers than some of the other horses, because\nI could be depended upon. It would take a long time to tell of all the\ndifferent styles in which I was driven, but I will mention a few of\nthem.\n\nFirst, there were the tight-rein drivers--men who seemed to think that\nall depended on holding the reins as hard as they could, never relaxing\nthe pull on the horse's mouth, or giving him the least liberty of\nmovement. They are always talking about \"keeping the horse well in\nhand\", and \"holding a horse up\", just as if a horse was not made to hold\nhimself up.\n\nSome poor, broken-down horses, whose mouths have been made hard and\ninsensible by just such drivers as these, may, perhaps, find some\nsupport in it; but for a horse who can depend upon his own legs, and who\nhas a tender mouth and is easily guided, it is not only tormenting, but\nit is stupid.\n\nThen there are the loose-rein drivers, who let the reins lie easily on\nour backs, and their own hand rest lazily on their knees. Of course,\nsuch gentlemen have no control over a horse, if anything happens\nsuddenly. If a horse shies, or starts, or stumbles, they are nowhere,\nand cannot help the horse or themselves till the mischief is done. Of\ncourse, for myself I had no objection to it, as I was not in the habit\neither of starting or stumbling, and had only been used to depend on my\ndriver for guidance and encouragement. Still, one likes to feel the rein\na little in going downhill, and likes to know that one's driver is not\ngone to sleep.\n\nBesides, a slovenly way of driving gets a horse into bad and often lazy\nhabits, and when he changes hands he has to be whipped out of them with\nmore or less pain and trouble. Squire Gordon always kept us to our best\npaces and our best manners. He said that spoiling a horse and letting\nhim get into bad habits was just as cruel as spoiling a child, and both\nhad to suffer for it afterward.\n\nBesides, these drivers are often careless altogether, and will attend to\nanything else more than their horses. I went out in the phaeton one day\nwith one of them; he had a lady and two children behind. He flopped the\nreins about as we started, and of course gave me several unmeaning cuts\nwith the whip, though I was fairly off. There had been a good deal of\nroad-mending going on, and even where the stones were not freshly laid\ndown there were a great many loose ones about. My driver was laughing\nand joking with the lady and the children, and talking about the country\nto the right and the left; but he never thought it worth while to keep\nan eye on his horse or to drive on the smoothest parts of the road; and\nso it easily happened that I got a stone in one of my fore feet.\n\nNow, if Mr. Gordon or John, or in fact any good driver, had been there,\nhe would have seen that something was wrong before I had gone three\npaces. Or even if it had been dark a practiced hand would have felt by\nthe rein that there was something wrong in the step, and they would have\ngot down and picked out the stone. But this man went on laughing and\ntalking, while at every step the stone became more firmly wedged between\nmy shoe and the frog of my foot. The stone was sharp on the inside and\nround on the outside, which, as every one knows, is the most dangerous\nkind that a horse can pick up, at the same time cutting his foot and\nmaking him most liable to stumble and fall.\n\nWhether the man was partly blind or only very careless I can't say, but\nhe drove me with that stone in my foot for a good half-mile before he\nsaw anything. By that time I was going so lame with the pain that at\nlast he saw it, and called out, \"Well, here's a go! Why, they have sent\nus out with a lame horse! What a shame!\"\n\nHe then chucked the reins and flipped about with the whip, saying, \"Now,\nthen, it's no use playing the old soldier with me; there's the journey\nto go, and it's no use turning lame and lazy.\"\n\nJust at this time a farmer came riding up on a brown cob. He lifted his\nhat and pulled up.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, sir,\" he said, \"but I think there is something the\nmatter with your horse; he goes very much as if he had a stone in\nhis shoe. If you will allow me I will look at his feet; these loose\nscattered stones are confounded dangerous things for the horses.\"\n\n\"He's a hired horse,\" said my driver. \"I don't know what's the matter\nwith him, but it is a great shame to send out a lame beast like this.\"\n\nThe farmer dismounted, and slipping his rein over his arm at once took\nup my near foot.\n\n\"Bless me, there's a stone! Lame! I should think so!\"\n\nAt first he tried to dislodge it with his hand, but as it was now\nvery tightly wedged he drew a stone-pick out of his pocket, and very\ncarefully and with some trouble got it out. Then holding it up he said,\n\"There, that's the stone your horse had picked up. It is a wonder he did\nnot fall down and break his knees into the bargain!\"\n\n\"Well, to be sure!\" said my driver; \"that is a queer thing! I never knew\nthat horses picked up stones before.\"\n\n\"Didn't you?\" said the farmer rather contemptuously; \"but they do,\nthough, and the best of them will do it, and can't help it sometimes on\nsuch roads as these. And if you don't want to lame your horse you must\nlook sharp and get them out quickly. This foot is very much bruised,\"\nhe said, setting it gently down and patting me. \"If I might advise,\nsir, you had better drive him gently for awhile; the foot is a good deal\nhurt, and the lameness will not go off directly.\"\n\nThen mounting his cob and raising his hat to the lady he trotted off.\n\nWhen he was gone my driver began to flop the reins about and whip the\nharness, by which I understood that I was to go on, which of course I\ndid, glad that the stone was gone, but still in a good deal of pain.\n\nThis was the sort of experience we job horses often came in for.\n\n\n\n\n29 Cockneys\n\n\nThen there is the steam-engine style of driving; these drivers were\nmostly people from towns, who never had a horse of their own and\ngenerally traveled by rail.\n\nThey always seemed to think that a horse was something like a\nsteam-engine, only smaller. At any rate, they think that if only they\npay for it a horse is bound to go just as far and just as fast and with\njust as heavy a load as they please. And be the roads heavy and muddy,\nor dry and good; be they stony or smooth, uphill or downhill, it is all\nthe same--on, on, on, one must go, at the same pace, with no relief and\nno consideration.\n\nThese people never think of getting out to walk up a steep hill. Oh, no,\nthey have paid to ride, and ride they will! The horse? Oh, he's used\nto it! What were horses made for, if not to drag people uphill? Walk! A\ngood joke indeed! And so the whip is plied and the rein is chucked and\noften a rough, scolding voice cries out, \"Go along, you lazy beast!\" And\nthen another slash of the whip, when all the time we are doing our\nvery best to get along, uncomplaining and obedient, though often sorely\nharassed and down-hearted.\n\nThis steam-engine style of driving wears us up faster than any other\nkind. I would far rather go twenty miles with a good considerate driver\nthan I would go ten with some of these; it would take less out of me.\n\nAnother thing, they scarcely ever put on the brake, however steep the\ndownhill may be, and thus bad accidents sometimes happen; or if they do\nput it on, they often forget to take it off at the bottom of the hill,\nand more than once I have had to pull halfway up the next hill, with one\nof the wheels held by the brake, before my driver chose to think about\nit; and that is a terrible strain on a horse.\n\nThen these cockneys, instead of starting at an easy pace, as a gentleman\nwould do, generally set off at full speed from the very stable-yard; and\nwhen they want to stop, they first whip us, and then pull up so suddenly\nthat we are nearly thrown on our haunches, and our mouths jagged with\nthe bit--they call that pulling up with a dash; and when they turn a\ncorner they do it as sharply as if there were no right side or wrong\nside of the road.\n\nI well remember one spring evening I and Rory had been out for the day.\n(Rory was the horse that mostly went with me when a pair was ordered,\nand a good honest fellow he was.) We had our own driver, and as he was\nalways considerate and gentle with us, we had a very pleasant day. We\nwere coming home at a good smart pace, about twilight. Our road turned\nsharp to the left; but as we were close to the hedge on our own side,\nand there was plenty of room to pass, our driver did not pull us in. As\nwe neared the corner I heard a horse and two wheels coming rapidly down\nthe hill toward us. The hedge was high, and I could see nothing, but the\nnext moment we were upon each other. Happily for me, I was on the side\nnext the hedge. Rory was on the left side of the pole, and had not even\na shaft to protect him. The man who was driving was making straight for\nthe corner, and when he came in sight of us he had no time to pull over\nto his own side. The whole shock came upon Rory. The gig shaft ran right\ninto the chest, making him stagger back with a cry that I shall never\nforget. The other horse was thrown upon his haunches and one shaft\nbroken. It turned out that it was a horse from our own stables, with the\nhigh-wheeled gig that the young men were so fond of.\n\nThe driver was one of those random, ignorant fellows, who don't even\nknow which is their own side of the road, or, if they know, don't care.\nAnd there was poor Rory with his flesh torn open and bleeding, and the\nblood streaming down. They said if it had been a little more to one side\nit would have killed him; and a good thing for him, poor fellow, if it\nhad.\n\nAs it was, it was a long time before the wound healed, and then he was\nsold for coal-carting; and what that is, up and down those steep hills,\nonly horses know. Some of the sights I saw there, where a horse had to\ncome downhill with a heavily loaded two-wheel cart behind him, on which\nno brake could be placed, make me sad even now to think of.\n\nAfter Rory was disabled I often went in the carriage with a mare named\nPeggy, who stood in the next stall to mine. She was a strong, well-made\nanimal, of a bright dun color, beautifully dappled, and with a\ndark-brown mane and tail. There was no high breeding about her, but she\nwas very pretty and remarkably sweet-tempered and willing. Still, there\nwas an anxious look about her eye, by which I knew that she had some\ntrouble. The first time we went out together I thought she had a very\nodd pace; she seemed to go partly a trot, partly a canter, three or four\npaces, and then a little jump forward.\n\nIt was very unpleasant for any horse who pulled with her, and made me\nquite fidgety. When we got home I asked her what made her go in that\nodd, awkward way.\n\n\"Ah,\" she said in a troubled manner, \"I know my paces are very bad, but\nwhat can I do? It really is not my fault; it is just because my legs are\nso short. I stand nearly as high as you, but your legs are a good three\ninches longer above your knee than mine, and of course you can take a\nmuch longer step and go much faster. You see I did not make myself.\nI wish I could have done so; I would have had long legs then. All my\ntroubles come from my short legs,\" said Peggy, in a desponding tone.\n\n\"But how is it,\" I said, \"when you are so strong and good-tempered and\nwilling?\"\n\n\"Why, you see,\" said she, \"men will go so fast, and if one can't keep up\nto other horses it is nothing but whip, whip, whip, all the time. And so\nI have had to keep up as I could, and have got into this ugly shuffling\npace. It was not always so; when I lived with my first master I always\nwent a good regular trot, but then he was not in such a hurry. He was a\nyoung clergyman in the country, and a good, kind master he was. He had\ntwo churches a good way apart, and a great deal of work, but he never\nscolded or whipped me for not going faster. He was very fond of me.\nI only wish I was with him now; but he had to leave and go to a large\ntown, and then I was sold to a farmer.\n\n\"Some farmers, you know, are capital masters; but I think this one was a\nlow sort of man. He cared nothing about good horses or good driving; he\nonly cared for going fast. I went as fast as I could, but that would\nnot do, and he was always whipping; so I got into this way of making a\nspring forward to keep up. On market nights he used to stay very late at\nthe inn, and then drive home at a gallop.\n\n\"One dark night he was galloping home as usual, when all of a sudden the\nwheel came against some great heavy thing in the road, and turned the\ngig over in a minute. He was thrown out and his arm broken, and some of\nhis ribs, I think. At any rate, it was the end of my living with him,\nand I was not sorry. But you see it will be the same everywhere for me,\nif men must go so fast. I wish my legs were longer!\"\n\nPoor Peggy! I was very sorry for her, and I could not comfort her, for\nI knew how hard it was upon slow-paced horses to be put with fast ones;\nall the whipping comes to their share, and they can't help it.\n\nShe was often used in the phaeton, and was very much liked by some of\nthe ladies, because she was so gentle; and some time after this she was\nsold to two ladies who drove themselves, and wanted a safe, good horse.\n\nI met her several times out in the country, going a good steady pace,\nand looking as gay and contented as a horse could be. I was very glad to\nsee her, for she deserved a good place.\n\nAfter she left us another horse came in her stead. He was young, and had\na bad name for shying and starting, by which he had lost a good place. I\nasked him what made him shy.\n\n\"Well, I hardly know,\" he said. \"I was timid when I was young, and was a\ngood deal frightened several times, and if I saw anything strange I\nused to turn and look at it--you see, with our blinkers one can't see\nor understand what a thing is unless one looks round--and then my master\nalways gave me a whipping, which of course made me start on, and did not\nmake me less afraid. I think if he would have let me just look at things\nquietly, and see that there was nothing to hurt me, it would have been\nall right, and I should have got used to them. One day an old gentleman\nwas riding with him, and a large piece of white paper or rag blew across\njust on one side of me. I shied and started forward. My master as usual\nwhipped me smartly, but the old man cried out, 'You're wrong! you're\nwrong! You should never whip a horse for shying; he shies because he is\nfrightened, and you only frighten him more and make the habit worse.'\nSo I suppose all men don't do so. I am sure I don't want to shy for the\nsake of it; but how should one know what is dangerous and what is not,\nif one is never allowed to get used to anything? I am never afraid of\nwhat I know. Now I was brought up in a park where there were deer; of\ncourse I knew them as well as I did a sheep or a cow, but they are not\ncommon, and I know many sensible horses who are frightened at them, and\nwho kick up quite a shindy before they will pass a paddock where there\nare deer.\"\n\nI knew what my companion said was true, and I wished that every young\nhorse had as good masters as Farmer Grey and Squire Gordon.\n\nOf course we sometimes came in for good driving here. I remember one\nmorning I was put into the light gig, and taken to a house in Pulteney\nStreet. Two gentlemen came out; the taller of them came round to my\nhead; he looked at the bit and bridle, and just shifted the collar with\nhis hand, to see if it fitted comfortably.\n\n\"Do you consider this horse wants a curb?\" he said to the hostler.\n\n\"Well,\" said the man, \"I should say he would go just as well without;\nhe has an uncommon good mouth, and though he has a fine spirit he has no\nvice; but we generally find people like the curb.\"\n\n\"I don't like it,\" said the gentleman; \"be so good as to take it off,\nand put the rein in at the cheek. An easy mouth is a great thing on a\nlong journey, is it not, old fellow?\" he said, patting my neck.\n\nThen he took the reins, and they both got up. I can remember now how\nquietly he turned me round, and then with a light feel of the rein, and\ndrawing the whip gently across my back, we were off.\n\nI arched my neck and set off at my best pace. I found I had some one\nbehind me who knew how a good horse ought to be driven. It seemed like\nold times again, and made me feel quite gay.\n\nThis gentleman took a great liking to me, and after trying me several\ntimes with the saddle he prevailed upon my master to sell me to a friend\nof his, who wanted a safe, pleasant horse for riding. And so it came to\npass that in the summer I was sold to Mr. Barry.\n\n\n\n\n30 A Thief\n\n\nMy new master was an unmarried man. He lived at Bath, and was much\nengaged in business. His doctor advised him to take horse exercise, and\nfor this purpose he bought me. He hired a stable a short distance from\nhis lodgings, and engaged a man named Filcher as groom. My master knew\nvery little about horses, but he treated me well, and I should have had\na good and easy place but for circumstances of which he was ignorant. He\nordered the best hay with plenty of oats, crushed beans, and bran,\nwith vetches, or rye grass, as the man might think needful. I heard the\nmaster give the order, so I knew there was plenty of good food, and I\nthought I was well off.\n\nFor a few days all went on well. I found that my groom understood\nhis business. He kept the stable clean and airy, and he groomed me\nthoroughly; and was never otherwise than gentle. He had been an hostler\nin one of the great hotels in Bath. He had given that up, and now\ncultivated fruit and vegetables for the market, and his wife bred and\nfattened poultry and rabbits for sale. After awhile it seemed to me that\nmy oats came very short; I had the beans, but bran was mixed with them\ninstead of oats, of which there were very few; certainly not more than a\nquarter of what there should have been. In two or three weeks this began\nto tell upon my strength and spirits. The grass food, though very good,\nwas not the thing to keep up my condition without corn. However, I\ncould not complain, nor make known my wants. So it went on for about two\nmonths; and I wondered that my master did not see that something was\nthe matter. However, one afternoon he rode out into the country to see a\nfriend of his, a gentleman farmer, who lived on the road to Wells.\n\nThis gentleman had a very quick eye for horses; and after he had\nwelcomed his friend he said, casting his eye over me:\n\n\"It seems to me, Barry, that your horse does not look so well as he did\nwhen you first had him; has he been well?\"\n\n\"Yes, I believe so,\" said my master; \"but he is not nearly so lively as\nhe was; my groom tells me that horses are always dull and weak in the\nautumn, and that I must expect it.\"\n\n\"Autumn, fiddlesticks!\" said the farmer. \"Why, this is only August; and\nwith your light work and good food he ought not to go down like this,\neven if it was autumn. How do you feed him?\"\n\nMy master told him. The other shook his head slowly, and began to feel\nme over.\n\n\"I can't say who eats your corn, my dear fellow, but I am much mistaken\nif your horse gets it. Have you ridden very fast?\"\n\n\"No, very gently.\"\n\n\"Then just put your hand here,\" said he, passing his hand over my neck\nand shoulder; \"he is as warm and damp as a horse just come up from\ngrass. I advise you to look into your stable a little more. I hate to be\nsuspicious, and, thank heaven, I have no cause to be, for I can trust my\nmen, present or absent; but there are mean scoundrels, wicked enough to\nrob a dumb beast of his food. You must look into it.\" And turning to\nhis man, who had come to take me, \"Give this horse a right good feed of\nbruised oats, and don't stint him.\"\n\n\"Dumb beasts!\" Yes, we are; but if I could have spoken I could have told\nmy master where his oats went to. My groom used to come every morning\nabout six o'clock, and with him a little boy, who always had a covered\nbasket with him. He used to go with his father into the harness-room,\nwhere the corn was kept, and I could see them, when the door stood ajar,\nfill a little bag with oats out of the bin, and then he used to be off.\n\nFive or six mornings after this, just as the boy had left the stable,\nthe door was pushed open, and a policeman walked in, holding the child\ntight by the arm; another policeman followed, and locked the door on the\ninside, saying, \"Show me the place where your father keeps his rabbits'\nfood.\"\n\nThe boy looked very frightened and began to cry; but there was no\nescape, and he led the way to the corn-bin. Here the policeman found\nanother empty bag like that which was found full of oats in the boy's\nbasket.\n\nFilcher was cleaning my feet at the time, but they soon saw him, and\nthough he blustered a good deal they walked him off to the \"lock-up\",\nand his boy with him. I heard afterward that the boy was not held to be\nguilty, but the man was sentenced to prison for two months.\n\n\n\n\n31 A Humbug\n\n\nMy master was not immediately suited, but in a few days my new groom\ncame. He was a tall, good-looking fellow enough; but if ever there was\na humbug in the shape of a groom Alfred Smirk was the man. He was very\ncivil to me, and never used me ill; in fact, he did a great deal of\nstroking and patting when his master was there to see it. He always\nbrushed my mane and tail with water and my hoofs with oil before he\nbrought me to the door, to make me look smart; but as to cleaning my\nfeet or looking to my shoes, or grooming me thoroughly, he thought no\nmore of that than if I had been a cow. He left my bit rusty, my saddle\ndamp, and my crupper stiff.\n\nAlfred Smirk considered himself very handsome; he spent a great deal of\ntime about his hair, whiskers and necktie, before a little looking-glass\nin the harness-room. When his master was speaking to him it was always,\n\"Yes, sir; yes, sir\"--touching his hat at every word; and every one\nthought he was a very nice young man and that Mr. Barry was very\nfortunate to meet with him. I should say he was the laziest, most\nconceited fellow I ever came near. Of course, it was a great thing not\nto be ill-used, but then a horse wants more than that. I had a loose\nbox, and might have been very comfortable if he had not been too\nindolent to clean it out. He never took all the straw away, and the\nsmell from what lay underneath was very bad; while the strong vapors\nthat rose made my eyes smart and inflame, and I did not feel the same\nappetite for my food.\n\nOne day his master came in and said, \"Alfred, the stable smells rather\nstrong; should not you give that stall a good scrub and throw down\nplenty of water?\"\n\n\"Well, sir,\" he said, touching his cap, \"I'll do so if you please, sir;\nbut it is rather dangerous, sir, throwing down water in a horse's box;\nthey are very apt to take cold, sir. I should not like to do him an\ninjury, but I'll do it if you please, sir.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said his master, \"I should not like him to take cold; but I\ndon't like the smell of this stable. Do you think the drains are all\nright?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, now you mention it, I think the drain does sometimes send\nback a smell; there may be something wrong, sir.\"\n\n\"Then send for the bricklayer and have it seen to,\" said his master.\n\n\"Yes, sir, I will.\"\n\nThe bricklayer came and pulled up a great many bricks, but found nothing\namiss; so he put down some lime and charged the master five shillings,\nand the smell in my box was as bad as ever. But that was not all:\nstanding as I did on a quantity of moist straw my feet grew unhealthy\nand tender, and the master used to say:\n\n\"I don't know what is the matter with this horse; he goes very\nfumble-footed. I am sometimes afraid he will stumble.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said Alfred, \"I have noticed the same myself, when I have\nexercised him.\"\n\nNow the fact was that he hardly ever did exercise me, and when the\nmaster was busy I often stood for days together without stretching my\nlegs at all, and yet being fed just as high as if I were at hard work.\nThis often disordered my health, and made me sometimes heavy and dull,\nbut more often restless and feverish. He never even gave me a meal\nof green food or a bran mash, which would have cooled me, for he\nwas altogether as ignorant as he was conceited; and then, instead of\nexercise or change of food, I had to take horse balls and draughts;\nwhich, beside the nuisance of having them poured down my throat, used to\nmake me feel ill and uncomfortable.\n\nOne day my feet were so tender that, trotting over some fresh stones\nwith my master on my back, I made two such serious stumbles that, as he\ncame down Lansdown into the city, he stopped at the farrier's, and asked\nhim to see what was the matter with me. The man took up my feet one\nby one and examined them; then standing up and dusting his hands one\nagainst the other, he said:\n\n\"Your horse has got the 'thrush', and badly, too; his feet are very\ntender; it is fortunate that he has not been down. I wonder your groom\nhas not seen to it before. This is the sort of thing we find in foul\nstables, where the litter is never properly cleaned out. If you will\nsend him here to-morrow I will attend to the hoof, and I will direct\nyour man how to apply the liniment which I will give him.\"\n\nThe next day I had my feet thoroughly cleansed and stuffed with tow\nsoaked in some strong lotion; and an unpleasant business it was.\n\nThe farrier ordered all the litter to be taken out of my box day by day,\nand the floor kept very clean. Then I was to have bran mashes, a little\ngreen food, and not so much corn, till my feet were well again. With\nthis treatment I soon regained my spirits; but Mr. Barry was so much\ndisgusted at being twice deceived by his grooms that he determined to\ngive up keeping a horse, and to hire when he wanted one. I was therefore\nkept till my feet were quite sound, and was then sold again.\n\n\n\n\nPart III\n\n\n\n\n32 A Horse Fair\n\n\nNo doubt a horse fair is a very amusing place to those who have nothing\nto lose; at any rate, there is plenty to see.\n\nLong strings of young horses out of the country, fresh from the marshes;\nand droves of shaggy little Welsh ponies, no higher than Merrylegs; and\nhundreds of cart horses of all sorts, some of them with their long tails\nbraided up and tied with scarlet cord; and a good many like myself,\nhandsome and high-bred, but fallen into the middle class, through some\naccident or blemish, unsoundness of wind, or some other complaint. There\nwere some splendid animals quite in their prime, and fit for anything;\nthey were throwing out their legs and showing off their paces in high\nstyle, as they were trotted out with a leading rein, the groom running\nby the side. But round in the background there were a number of poor\nthings, sadly broken down with hard work, with their knees knuckling\nover and their hind legs swinging out at every step, and there were some\nvery dejected-looking old horses, with the under lip hanging down and\nthe ears lying back heavily, as if there were no more pleasure in life,\nand no more hope; there were some so thin you might see all their ribs,\nand some with old sores on their backs and hips. These were sad sights\nfor a horse to look upon, who knows not but he may come to the same\nstate.\n\nThere was a great deal of bargaining, of running up and beating down;\nand if a horse may speak his mind so far as he understands, I should say\nthere were more lies told and more trickery at that horse fair than a\nclever man could give an account of. I was put with two or three other\nstrong, useful-looking horses, and a good many people came to look at\nus. The gentlemen always turned from me when they saw my broken knees;\nthough the man who had me swore it was only a slip in the stall.\n\nThe first thing was to pull my mouth open, then to look at my eyes, then\nfeel all the way down my legs, and give me a hard feel of the skin and\nflesh, and then try my paces. It was wonderful what a difference there\nwas in the way these things were done. Some did it in a rough, offhand\nway, as if one was only a piece of wood; while others would take their\nhands gently over one's body, with a pat now and then, as much as to\nsay, \"By your leave.\" Of course I judged a good deal of the buyers by\ntheir manners to myself.\n\nThere was one man, I thought, if he would buy me, I should be happy.\nHe was not a gentleman, nor yet one of the loud, flashy sort that call\nthemselves so. He was rather a small man, but well made, and quick in\nall his motions. I knew in a moment by the way he handled me, that he\nwas used to horses; he spoke gently, and his gray eye had a kindly,\ncheery look in it. It may seem strange to say--but it is true all the\nsame--that the clean, fresh smell there was about him made me take to\nhim; no smell of old beer and tobacco, which I hated, but a fresh smell\nas if he had come out of a hayloft. He offered twenty-three pounds for\nme, but that was refused, and he walked away. I looked after him, but\nhe was gone, and a very hard-looking, loud-voiced man came. I was\ndreadfully afraid he would have me; but he walked off. One or two more\ncame who did not mean business. Then the hard-faced man came back again\nand offered twenty-three pounds. A very close bargain was being driven,\nfor my salesman began to think he should not get all he asked, and must\ncome down; but just then the gray-eyed man came back again. I could not\nhelp reaching out my head toward him. He stroked my face kindly.\n\n\"Well, old chap,\" he said, \"I think we should suit each other. I'll give\ntwenty-four for him.\"\n\n\"Say twenty-five and you shall have him.\"\n\n\"Twenty-four ten,\" said my friend, in a very decided tone, \"and not\nanother sixpence--yes or no?\"\n\n\"Done,\" said the salesman; \"and you may depend upon it there's a\nmonstrous deal of quality in that horse, and if you want him for cab\nwork he's a bargain.\"\n\nThe money was paid on the spot, and my new master took my halter, and\nled me out of the fair to an inn, where he had a saddle and bridle\nready. He gave me a good feed of oats and stood by while I ate it,\ntalking to himself and talking to me. Half an hour after we were on our\nway to London, through pleasant lanes and country roads, until we came\ninto the great London thoroughfare, on which we traveled steadily, till\nin the twilight we reached the great city. The gas lamps were already\nlighted; there were streets to the right, and streets to the left, and\nstreets crossing each other, for mile upon mile. I thought we should\nnever come to the end of them. At last, in passing through one, we\ncame to a long cab stand, when my rider called out in a cheery voice,\n\"Good-night, governor!\"\n\n\"Halloo!\" cried a voice. \"Have you got a good one?\"\n\n\"I think so,\" replied my owner.\n\n\"I wish you luck with him.\"\n\n\"Thank you, governor,\" and he rode on. We soon turned up one of the side\nstreets, and about halfway up that we turned into a very narrow street,\nwith rather poor-looking houses on one side, and what seemed to be\ncoach-houses and stables on the other.\n\nMy owner pulled up at one of the houses and whistled. The door flew\nopen, and a young woman, followed by a little girl and boy, ran out.\nThere was a very lively greeting as my rider dismounted.\n\n\"Now, then, Harry, my boy, open the gates, and mother will bring us the\nlantern.\"\n\nThe next minute they were all standing round me in a small stable-yard.\n\n\"Is he gentle, father?\"\n\n\"Yes, Dolly, as gentle as your own kitten; come and pat him.\"\n\nAt once the little hand was patting about all over my shoulder without\nfear. How good it felt!\n\n\"Let me get him a bran mash while you rub him down,\" said the mother.\n\n\"Do, Polly, it's just what he wants; and I know you've got a beautiful\nmash ready for me.\"\n\n\"Sausage dumpling and apple turnover!\" shouted the boy, which set them\nall laughing. I was led into a comfortable, clean-smelling stall, with\nplenty of dry straw, and after a capital supper I lay down, thinking I\nwas going to be happy.\n\n\n\n\n33 A London Cab Horse\n\n\nJeremiah Barker was my new master's name, but as every one called him\nJerry, I shall do the same. Polly, his wife, was just as good a match as\na man could have. She was a plump, trim, tidy little woman, with smooth,\ndark hair, dark eyes, and a merry little mouth. The boy was twelve years\nold, a tall, frank, good-tempered lad; and little Dorothy (Dolly they\ncalled her) was her mother over again, at eight years old. They were all\nwonderfully fond of each other; I never knew such a happy, merry family\nbefore or since. Jerry had a cab of his own, and two horses, which he\ndrove and attended to himself. His other horse was a tall, white, rather\nlarge-boned animal called \"Captain\". He was old now, but when he was\nyoung he must have been splendid; he had still a proud way of\nholding his head and arching his neck; in fact, he was a high-bred,\nfine-mannered, noble old horse, every inch of him. He told me that in\nhis early youth he went to the Crimean War; he belonged to an officer\nin the cavalry, and used to lead the regiment. I will tell more of that\nhereafter.\n\nThe next morning, when I was well-groomed, Polly and Dolly came into the\nyard to see me and make friends. Harry had been helping his father since\nthe early morning, and had stated his opinion that I should turn out a\n\"regular brick\". Polly brought me a slice of apple, and Dolly a piece\nof bread, and made as much of me as if I had been the \"Black Beauty\" of\nolden time. It was a great treat to be petted again and talked to in a\ngentle voice, and I let them see as well as I could that I wished to be\nfriendly. Polly thought I was very handsome, and a great deal too good\nfor a cab, if it was not for the broken knees.\n\n\"Of course there's no one to tell us whose fault that was,\" said Jerry,\n\"and as long as I don't know I shall give him the benefit of the doubt;\nfor a firmer, neater stepper I never rode. We'll call him 'Jack', after\nthe old one--shall we, Polly?\"\n\n\"Do,\" she said, \"for I like to keep a good name going.\"\n\nCaptain went out in the cab all the morning. Harry came in after school\nto feed me and give me water. In the afternoon I was put into the\ncab. Jerry took as much pains to see if the collar and bridle fitted\ncomfortably as if he had been John Manly over again. When the crupper\nwas let out a hole or two it all fitted well. There was no check-rein,\nno curb, nothing but a plain ring snaffle. What a blessing that was!\n\nAfter driving through the side street we came to the large cab stand\nwhere Jerry had said \"Good-night\". On one side of this wide street were\nhigh houses with wonderful shop fronts, and on the other was an old\nchurch and churchyard, surrounded by iron palisades. Alongside these\niron rails a number of cabs were drawn up, waiting for passengers; bits\nof hay were lying about on the ground; some of the men were standing\ntogether talking; some were sitting on their boxes reading the\nnewspaper; and one or two were feeding their horses with bits of hay,\nand giving them a drink of water. We pulled up in the rank at the back\nof the last cab. Two or three men came round and began to look at me and\npass their remarks.\n\n\"Very good for a funeral,\" said one.\n\n\"Too smart-looking,\" said another, shaking his head in a very wise way;\n\"you'll find out something wrong one of these fine mornings, or my name\nisn't Jones.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Jerry pleasantly, \"I suppose I need not find it out till it\nfinds me out, eh? And if so, I'll keep up my spirits a little longer.\"\n\nThen there came up a broad-faced man, dressed in a great gray coat\nwith great gray cape and great white buttons, a gray hat, and a blue\ncomforter loosely tied round his neck; his hair was gray, too; but\nhe was a jolly-looking fellow, and the other men made way for him.\nHe looked me all over, as if he had been going to buy me; and then\nstraightening himself up with a grunt, he said, \"He's the right sort for\nyou, Jerry; I don't care what you gave for him, he'll be worth it.\" Thus\nmy character was established on the stand.\n\nThis man's name was Grant, but he was called \"Gray Grant\", or \"Governor\nGrant\". He had been the longest on that stand of any of the men, and\nhe took it upon himself to settle matters and stop disputes. He was\ngenerally a good-humored, sensible man; but if his temper was a little\nout, as it was sometimes when he had drunk too much, nobody liked to\ncome too near his fist, for he could deal a very heavy blow.\n\nThe first week of my life as a cab horse was very trying. I had never\nbeen used to London, and the noise, the hurry, the crowds of horses,\ncarts, and carriages that I had to make my way through made me feel\nanxious and harassed; but I soon found that I could perfectly trust my\ndriver, and then I made myself easy and got used to it.\n\nJerry was as good a driver as I had ever known, and what was better, he\ntook as much thought for his horses as he did for himself. He soon found\nout that I was willing to work and do my best, and he never laid the\nwhip on me unless it was gently drawing the end of it over my back when\nI was to go on; but generally I knew this quite well by the way in which\nhe took up the reins, and I believe his whip was more frequently stuck\nup by his side than in his hand.\n\nIn a short time I and my master understood each other as well as horse\nand man can do. In the stable, too, he did all that he could for our\ncomfort. The stalls were the old-fashioned style, too much on the slope;\nbut he had two movable bars fixed across the back of our stalls, so that\nat night, and when we were resting, he just took off our halters and\nput up the bars, and thus we could turn about and stand whichever way we\npleased, which is a great comfort.\n\nJerry kept us very clean, and gave us as much change of food as he\ncould, and always plenty of it; and not only that, but he always gave us\nplenty of clean fresh water, which he allowed to stand by us both night\nand day, except of course when we came in warm. Some people say that a\nhorse ought not to drink all he likes; but I know if we are allowed to\ndrink when we want it we drink only a little at a time, and it does us\na great deal more good than swallowing down half a bucketful at a time,\nbecause we have been left without till we are thirsty and miserable.\nSome grooms will go home to their beer and leave us for hours with our\ndry hay and oats and nothing to moisten them; then of course we gulp\ndown too much at once, which helps to spoil our breathing and sometimes\nchills our stomachs. But the best thing we had here was our Sundays for\nrest; we worked so hard in the week that I do not think we could have\nkept up to it but for that day; besides, we had then time to enjoy each\nother's company. It was on these days that I learned my companion's\nhistory.\n\n\n\n\n34 An Old War Horse\n\n\nCaptain had been broken in and trained for an army horse; his first\nowner was an officer of cavalry going out to the Crimean war. He said he\nquite enjoyed the training with all the other horses, trotting together,\nturning together, to the right hand or the left, halting at the word of\ncommand, or dashing forward at full speed at the sound of the trumpet\nor signal of the officer. He was, when young, a dark, dappled iron-gray,\nand considered very handsome. His master, a young, high-spirited\ngentleman, was very fond of him, and treated him from the first with the\ngreatest care and kindness. He told me he thought the life of an army\nhorse was very pleasant; but when it came to being sent abroad over the\nsea in a great ship, he almost changed his mind.\n\n\"That part of it,\" said he, \"was dreadful! Of course we could not walk\noff the land into the ship; so they were obliged to put strong straps\nunder our bodies, and then we were lifted off our legs in spite of our\nstruggles, and were swung through the air over the water, to the deck of\nthe great vessel. There we were placed in small close stalls, and never\nfor a long time saw the sky, or were able to stretch our legs. The ship\nsometimes rolled about in high winds, and we were knocked about, and\nfelt bad enough.\n\n\"However, at last it came to an end, and we were hauled up, and swung\nover again to the land; we were very glad, and snorted and neighed for\njoy, when we once more felt firm ground under our feet.\n\n\"We soon found that the country we had come to was very different from\nour own and that we had many hardships to endure besides the fighting;\nbut many of the men were so fond of their horses that they did\neverything they could to make them comfortable in spite of snow, wet,\nand all things out of order.\"\n\n\"But what about the fighting?\" said I, \"was not that worse than anything\nelse?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said he, \"I hardly know; we always liked to hear the trumpet\nsound, and to be called out, and were impatient to start off, though\nsometimes we had to stand for hours, waiting for the word of command;\nand when the word was given we used to spring forward as gayly and\neagerly as if there were no cannon balls, bayonets, or bullets. I\nbelieve so long as we felt our rider firm in the saddle, and his hand\nsteady on the bridle, not one of us gave way to fear, not even when the\nterrible bomb-shells whirled through the air and burst into a thousand\npieces.\n\n\"I, with my noble master, went into many actions together without a\nwound; and though I saw horses shot down with bullets, pierced through\nwith lances, and gashed with fearful saber-cuts; though we left them\ndead on the field, or dying in the agony of their wounds, I don't think\nI feared for myself. My master's cheery voice, as he encouraged his\nmen, made me feel as if he and I could not be killed. I had such perfect\ntrust in him that while he was guiding me I was ready to charge up\nto the very cannon's mouth. I saw many brave men cut down, many fall\nmortally wounded from their saddles. I had heard the cries and groans\nof the dying, I had cantered over ground slippery with blood, and\nfrequently had to turn aside to avoid trampling on wounded man or horse,\nbut, until one dreadful day, I had never felt terror; that day I shall\nnever forget.\"\n\nHere old Captain paused for awhile and drew a long breath; I waited, and\nhe went on.\n\n\"It was one autumn morning, and as usual, an hour before daybreak our\ncavalry had turned out, ready caparisoned for the day's work, whether\nit might be fighting or waiting. The men stood by their horses waiting,\nready for orders. As the light increased there seemed to be some\nexcitement among the officers; and before the day was well begun we\nheard the firing of the enemy's guns.\n\n\"Then one of the officers rode up and gave the word for the men to\nmount, and in a second every man was in his saddle, and every horse\nstood expecting the touch of the rein, or the pressure of his rider's\nheels, all animated, all eager; but still we had been trained so well\nthat, except by the champing of our bits, and the restive tossing of our\nheads from time to time, it could not be said that we stirred.\n\n\"My dear master and I were at the head of the line, and as all sat\nmotionless and watchful, he took a little stray lock of my mane which\nhad turned over on the wrong side, laid it over on the right, and\nsmoothed it down with his hand; then patting my neck, he said, 'We shall\nhave a day of it to-day, Bayard, my beauty; but we'll do our duty as we\nhave done.' He stroked my neck that morning more, I think, than he had\never done before; quietly on and on, as if he were thinking of something\nelse. I loved to feel his hand on my neck, and arched my crest proudly\nand happily; but I stood very still, for I knew all his moods, and when\nhe liked me to be quiet, and when gay.\n\n\"I cannot tell all that happened on that day, but I will tell of the\nlast charge that we made together; it was across a valley right in front\nof the enemy's cannon. By this time we were well used to the roar of\nheavy guns, the rattle of musket fire, and the flying of shot near us;\nbut never had I been under such a fire as we rode through on that day.\nFrom the right, from the left, and from the front, shot and shell poured\nin upon us. Many a brave man went down, many a horse fell, flinging his\nrider to the earth; many a horse without a rider ran wildly out of the\nranks; then terrified at being alone, with no hand to guide him, came\npressing in among his old companions, to gallop with them to the charge.\n\n\"Fearful as it was, no one stopped, no one turned back. Every moment the\nranks were thinned, but as our comrades fell, we closed in to keep\nthem together; and instead of being shaken or staggered in our pace our\ngallop became faster and faster as we neared the cannon.\n\n\"My master, my dear master was cheering on his comrades with his right\narm raised on high, when one of the balls whizzing close to my head\nstruck him. I felt him stagger with the shock, though he uttered no cry;\nI tried to check my speed, but the sword dropped from his right hand,\nthe rein fell loose from the left, and sinking backward from the saddle\nhe fell to the earth; the other riders swept past us, and by the force\nof their charge I was driven from the spot.\n\n\"I wanted to keep my place by his side and not leave him under that\nrush of horses' feet, but it was in vain; and now without a master or a\nfriend I was alone on that great slaughter ground; then fear took hold\non me, and I trembled as I had never trembled before; and I too, as I\nhad seen other horses do, tried to join in the ranks and gallop with\nthem; but I was beaten off by the swords of the soldiers. Just then a\nsoldier whose horse had been killed under him caught at my bridle and\nmounted me, and with this new master I was again going forward; but our\ngallant company was cruelly overpowered, and those who remained alive\nafter the fierce fight for the guns came galloping back over the same\nground. Some of the horses had been so badly wounded that they could\nscarcely move from the loss of blood; other noble creatures were trying\non three legs to drag themselves along, and others were struggling to\nrise on their fore feet, when their hind legs had been shattered by\nshot. After the battle the wounded men were brought in and the dead were\nburied.\"\n\n\"And what about the wounded horses?\" I said; \"were they left to die?\"\n\n\"No, the army farriers went over the field with their pistols and shot\nall that were ruined; some that had only slight wounds were brought back\nand attended to, but the greater part of the noble, willing creatures\nthat went out that morning never came back! In our stables there was\nonly about one in four that returned.\n\n\"I never saw my dear master again. I believe he fell dead from the\nsaddle. I never loved any other master so well. I went into many other\nengagements, but was only once wounded, and then not seriously; and when\nthe war was over I came back again to England, as sound and strong as\nwhen I went out.\"\n\nI said, \"I have heard people talk about war as if it was a very fine\nthing.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said he, \"I should think they never saw it. No doubt it is very\nfine when there is no enemy, when it is just exercise and parade and\nsham fight. Yes, it is very fine then; but when thousands of good brave\nmen and horses are killed or crippled for life, it has a very different\nlook.\"\n\n\"Do you know what they fought about?\" said I.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"that is more than a horse can understand, but the enemy\nmust have been awfully wicked people, if it was right to go all that way\nover the sea on purpose to kill them.\"\n\n\n\n\n35 Jerry Barker\n\n\nI never knew a better man than my new master. He was kind and good, and\nas strong for the right as John Manly; and so good-tempered and merry\nthat very few people could pick a quarrel with him. He was very fond of\nmaking little songs, and singing them to himself. One he was very fond\nof was this:\n\n     \"Come, father and mother,\n     And sister and brother,\n     Come, all of you, turn to\n     And help one another.\"\n\nAnd so they did; Harry was as clever at stable-work as a much older boy,\nand always wanted to do what he could. Then Polly and Dolly used to come\nin the morning to help with the cab--to brush and beat the cushions,\nand rub the glass, while Jerry was giving us a cleaning in the yard, and\nHarry was rubbing the harness. There used to be a great deal of laughing\nand fun between them, and it put Captain and me in much better spirits\nthan if we had heard scolding and hard words. They were always early in\nthe morning, for Jerry would say:\n\n     \"If you in the morning\n     Throw minutes away,\n     You can't pick them up\n     In the course of a day.\n     You may hurry and scurry,\n     And flurry and worry,\n     You've lost them forever,\n     Forever and aye.\"\n\nHe could not bear any careless loitering and waste of time; and nothing\nwas so near making him angry as to find people, who were always late,\nwanting a cab horse to be driven hard, to make up for their idleness.\n\nOne day two wild-looking young men came out of a tavern close by the\nstand, and called Jerry.\n\n\"Here, cabby! look sharp, we are rather late; put on the steam, will\nyou, and take us to the Victoria in time for the one o'clock train? You\nshall have a shilling extra.\"\n\n\"I will take you at the regular pace, gentlemen; shillings don't pay for\nputting on the steam like that.\"\n\nLarry's cab was standing next to ours; he flung open the door, and said,\n\"I'm your man, gentlemen! take my cab, my horse will get you there all\nright;\" and as he shut them in, with a wink toward Jerry, said, \"It's\nagainst his conscience to go beyond a jog-trot.\" Then slashing his jaded\nhorse, he set off as hard as he could. Jerry patted me on the neck: \"No,\nJack, a shilling would not pay for that sort of thing, would it, old\nboy?\"\n\nAlthough Jerry was determinedly set against hard driving, to please\ncareless people, he always went a good fair pace, and was not against\nputting on the steam, as he said, if only he knew why.\n\nI well remember one morning, as we were on the stand waiting for a\nfare, that a young man, carrying a heavy portmanteau, trod on a piece of\norange peel which lay on the pavement, and fell down with great force.\n\nJerry was the first to run and lift him up. He seemed much stunned, and\nas they led him into a shop he walked as if he were in great pain. Jerry\nof course came back to the stand, but in about ten minutes one of the\nshopmen called him, so we drew up to the pavement.\n\n\"Can you take me to the South-Eastern Railway?\" said the young man;\n\"this unlucky fall has made me late, I fear; but it is of great\nimportance that I should not lose the twelve o'clock train. I should be\nmost thankful if you could get me there in time, and will gladly pay you\nan extra fare.\"\n\n\"I'll do my very best,\" said Jerry heartily, \"if you think you are well\nenough, sir,\" for he looked dreadfully white and ill.\n\n\"I must go,\" he said earnestly, \"please to open the door, and let us\nlose no time.\"\n\nThe next minute Jerry was on the box; with a cheery chirrup to me, and a\ntwitch of the rein that I well understood.\n\n\"Now then, Jack, my boy,\" said he, \"spin along, we'll show them how we\ncan get over the ground, if we only know why.\"\n\nIt is always difficult to drive fast in the city in the middle of the\nday, when the streets are full of traffic, but we did what could be\ndone; and when a good driver and a good horse, who understand each\nother, are of one mind, it is wonderful what they can do. I had a very\ngood mouth--that is I could be guided by the slightest touch of the\nrein; and that is a great thing in London, among carriages, omnibuses,\ncarts, vans, trucks, cabs, and great wagons creeping along at a walking\npace; some going one way, some another, some going slowly, others\nwanting to pass them; omnibuses stopping short every few minutes to take\nup a passenger, obliging the horse that is coming behind to pull up too,\nor to pass, and get before them; perhaps you try to pass, but just then\nsomething else comes dashing in through the narrow opening, and you\nhave to keep in behind the omnibus again; presently you think you see a\nchance, and manage to get to the front, going so near the wheels on each\nside that half an inch nearer and they would scrape. Well, you get along\nfor a bit, but soon find yourself in a long train of carts and carriages\nall obliged to go at a walk; perhaps you come to a regular block-up, and\nhave to stand still for minutes together, till something clears out into\na side street, or the policeman interferes; you have to be ready for\nany chance--to dash forward if there be an opening, and be quick as a\nrat-dog to see if there be room and if there be time, lest you get your\nown wheels locked or smashed, or the shaft of some other vehicle run\ninto your chest or shoulder. All this is what you have to be ready for.\nIf you want to get through London fast in the middle of the day it wants\na deal of practice.\n\nJerry and I were used to it, and no one could beat us at getting through\nwhen we were set upon it. I was quick and bold and could always trust\nmy driver; Jerry was quick and patient at the same time, and could trust\nhis horse, which was a great thing too. He very seldom used the whip; I\nknew by his voice, and his click, click, when he wanted to get on fast,\nand by the rein where I was to go; so there was no need for whipping;\nbut I must go back to my story.\n\nThe streets were very full that day, but we got on pretty well as far\nas the bottom of Cheapside, where there was a block for three or four\nminutes. The young man put his head out and said anxiously, \"I think I\nhad better get out and walk; I shall never get there if this goes on.\"\n\n\"I'll do all that can be done, sir,\" said Jerry; \"I think we shall be\nin time. This block-up cannot last much longer, and your luggage is very\nheavy for you to carry, sir.\"\n\nJust then the cart in front of us began to move on, and then we had a\ngood turn. In and out, in and out we went, as fast as horseflesh could\ndo it, and for a wonder had a good clear time on London Bridge, for\nthere was a whole train of cabs and carriages all going our way at a\nquick trot, perhaps wanting to catch that very train. At any rate, we\nwhirled into the station with many more, just as the great clock pointed\nto eight minutes to twelve o'clock.\n\n\"Thank God! we are in time,\" said the young man, \"and thank you, too, my\nfriend, and your good horse. You have saved me more than money can ever\npay for. Take this extra half-crown.\"\n\n\"No, sir, no, thank you all the same; so glad we hit the time, sir;\nbut don't stay now, sir, the bell is ringing. Here, porter! take this\ngentleman's luggage--Dover line twelve o'clock train--that's it,\" and\nwithout waiting for another word Jerry wheeled me round to make room for\nother cabs that were dashing up at the last minute, and drew up on one\nside till the crush was past.\n\n\"'So glad!' he said, 'so glad!' Poor young fellow! I wonder what it was\nthat made him so anxious!\"\n\nJerry often talked to himself quite loud enough for me to hear when we\nwere not moving.\n\nOn Jerry's return to the rank there was a good deal of laughing and\nchaffing at him for driving hard to the train for an extra fare, as they\nsaid, all against his principles, and they wanted to know how much he\nhad pocketed.\n\n\"A good deal more than I generally get,\" said he, nodding slyly; \"what\nhe gave me will keep me in little comforts for several days.\"\n\n\"Gammon!\" said one.\n\n\"He's a humbug,\" said another; \"preaching to us and then doing the same\nhimself.\"\n\n\"Look here, mates,\" said Jerry; \"the gentleman offered me half a crown\nextra, but I didn't take it; 'twas quite pay enough for me to see how\nglad he was to catch that train; and if Jack and I choose to have a\nquick run now and then to please ourselves, that's our business and not\nyours.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Larry, \"you'll never be a rich man.\"\n\n\"Most likely not,\" said Jerry; \"but I don't know that I shall be the\nless happy for that. I have heard the commandments read a great many\ntimes and I never noticed that any of them said, 'Thou shalt be rich';\nand there are a good many curious things said in the New Testament about\nrich men that I think would make me feel rather queer if I was one of\nthem.\"\n\n\"If you ever do get rich,\" said Governor Gray, looking over his shoulder\nacross the top of his cab, \"you'll deserve it, Jerry, and you won't find\na curse come with your wealth. As for you, Larry, you'll die poor; you\nspend too much in whipcord.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Larry, \"what is a fellow to do if his horse won't go\nwithout it?\"\n\n\"You never take the trouble to see if he will go without it; your whip\nis always going as if you had the St. Vitus' dance in your arm, and\nif it does not wear you out it wears your horse out; you know you are\nalways changing your horses; and why? Because you never give them any\npeace or encouragement.\"\n\n\"Well, I have not had good luck,\" said Larry, \"that's where it is.\"\n\n\"And you never will,\" said the governor. \"Good Luck is rather particular\nwho she rides with, and mostly prefers those who have got common sense\nand a good heart; at least that is my experience.\"\n\nGovernor Gray turned round again to his newspaper, and the other men\nwent to their cabs.\n\n\n\n\n36 The Sunday Cab\n\n\nOne morning, as Jerry had just put me into the shafts and was fastening\nthe traces, a gentleman walked into the yard. \"Your servant, sir,\" said\nJerry.\n\n\"Good-morning, Mr. Barker,\" said the gentleman. \"I should be glad to\nmake some arrangements with you for taking Mrs. Briggs regularly to\nchurch on Sunday mornings. We go to the New Church now, and that is\nrather further than she can walk.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" said Jerry, \"but I have only taken out a six-days'\nlicense,* and therefore I could not take a fare on a Sunday; it would\nnot be legal.\"\n\n\n* A few years since the annual charge for a cab license was very much\nreduced, and the difference between the six and seven days' cabs was\nabolished.\n\n\n\"Oh!\" said the other, \"I did not know yours was a six-days' cab; but of\ncourse it would be very easy to alter your license. I would see that you\ndid not lose by it; the fact is, Mrs. Briggs very much prefers you to\ndrive her.\"\n\n\"I should be glad to oblige the lady, sir, but I had a seven-days'\nlicense once, and the work was too hard for me, and too hard for my\nhorses. Year in and year out, not a day's rest, and never a Sunday with\nmy wife and children; and never able to go to a place of worship, which\nI had always been used to do before I took to the driving box. So for\nthe last five years I have only taken a six-days' license, and I find it\nbetter all the way round.\"\n\n\"Well, of course,\" replied Mr. Briggs, \"it is very proper that every\nperson should have rest, and be able to go to church on Sundays, but I\nshould have thought you would not have minded such a short distance for\nthe horse, and only once a day; you would have all the afternoon and\nevening for yourself, and we are very good customers, you know.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, that is true, and I am grateful for all favors, I am sure;\nand anything that I could do to oblige you, or the lady, I should be\nproud and happy to do; but I can't give up my Sundays, sir, indeed I\ncan't. I read that God made man, and he made horses and all the other\nbeasts, and as soon as He had made them He made a day of rest, and bade\nthat all should rest one day in seven; and I think, sir, He must have\nknown what was good for them, and I am sure it is good for me; I am\nstronger and healthier altogether, now that I have a day of rest; the\nhorses are fresh too, and do not wear up nearly so fast. The six-day\ndrivers all tell me the same, and I have laid by more money in the\nsavings bank than ever I did before; and as for the wife and children,\nsir, why, heart alive! they would not go back to the seven days for all\nthey could see.\"\n\n\"Oh, very well,\" said the gentleman. \"Don't trouble yourself, Mr.\nBarker, any further. I will inquire somewhere else,\" and he walked away.\n\n\"Well,\" says Jerry to me, \"we can't help it, Jack, old boy; we must have\nour Sundays.\"\n\n\"Polly!\" he shouted, \"Polly! come here.\"\n\nShe was there in a minute.\n\n\"What is it all about, Jerry?\"\n\n\"Why, my dear, Mr. Briggs wants me to take Mrs. Briggs to church every\nSunday morning. I say I have only a six-days' license. He says, 'Get a\nseven-days' license, and I'll make it worth your while;' and you know,\nPolly, they are very good customers to us. Mrs. Briggs often goes out\nshopping for hours, or making calls, and then she pays down fair and\nhonorable like a lady; there's no beating down or making three hours\ninto two hours and a half, as some folks do; and it is easy work for\nthe horses; not like tearing along to catch trains for people that are\nalways a quarter of an hour too late; and if I don't oblige her in this\nmatter it is very likely we shall lose them altogether. What do you say,\nlittle woman?\"\n\n\"I say, Jerry,\" says she, speaking very slowly, \"I say, if Mrs. Briggs\nwould give you a sovereign every Sunday morning, I would not have you a\nseven-days' cabman again. We have known what it was to have no Sundays,\nand now we know what it is to call them our own. Thank God, you earn\nenough to keep us, though it is sometimes close work to pay for all the\noats and hay, the license, and the rent besides; but Harry will soon be\nearning something, and I would rather struggle on harder than we do than\ngo back to those horrid times when you hardly had a minute to look at\nyour own children, and we never could go to a place of worship together,\nor have a happy, quiet day. God forbid that we should ever turn back to\nthose times; that's what I say, Jerry.\"\n\n\"And that is just what I told Mr. Briggs, my dear,\" said Jerry, \"and\nwhat I mean to stick to. So don't go and fret yourself, Polly\" (for she\nhad begun to cry); \"I would not go back to the old times if I earned\ntwice as much, so that is settled, little woman. Now, cheer up, and I'll\nbe off to the stand.\"\n\nThree weeks had passed away after this conversation, and no order had\ncome from Mrs. Briggs; so there was nothing but taking jobs from the\nstand. Jerry took it to heart a good deal, for of course the work was\nharder for horse and man. But Polly would always cheer him up, and say,\n\"Never mind, father, never, mind.\n\n     \"'Do your best,\n     And leave the rest,\n     'Twill all come right\n     Some day or night.'\"\n\nIt soon became known that Jerry had lost his best customer, and for what\nreason. Most of the men said he was a fool, but two or three took his\npart.\n\n\"If workingmen don't stick to their Sunday,\" said Truman, \"they'll soon\nhave none left; it is every man's right and every beast's right. By\nGod's law we have a day of rest, and by the law of England we have a day\nof rest; and I say we ought to hold to the rights these laws give us and\nkeep them for our children.\"\n\n\"All very well for you religious chaps to talk so,\" said Larry; \"but\nI'll turn a shilling when I can. I don't believe in religion, for I\ndon't see that your religious people are any better than the rest.\"\n\n\"If they are not better,\" put in Jerry, \"it is because they are not\nreligious. You might as well say that our country's laws are not good\nbecause some people break them. If a man gives way to his temper, and\nspeaks evil of his neighbor, and does not pay his debts, he is not\nreligious, I don't care how much he goes to church. If some men are\nshams and humbugs, that does not make religion untrue. Real religion is\nthe best and truest thing in the world, and the only thing that can make\na man really happy or make the world we live in any better.\"\n\n\"If religion was good for anything,\" said Jones, \"it would prevent your\nreligious people from making us work on Sundays, as you know many of\nthem do, and that's why I say religion is nothing but a sham; why, if it\nwas not for the church and chapel-goers it would be hardly worth while\nour coming out on a Sunday. But they have their privileges, as they call\nthem, and I go without. I shall expect them to answer for my soul, if I\ncan't get a chance of saving it.\"\n\nSeveral of the men applauded this, till Jerry said:\n\n\"That may sound well enough, but it won't do; every man must look\nafter his own soul; you can't lay it down at another man's door like a\nfoundling and expect him to take care of it; and don't you see, if you\nare always sitting on your box waiting for a fare, they will say, 'If we\ndon't take him some one else will, and he does not look for any Sunday.'\nOf course, they don't go to the bottom of it, or they would see if they\nnever came for a cab it would be no use your standing there; but\npeople don't always like to go to the bottom of things; it may not be\nconvenient to do it; but if you Sunday drivers would all strike for a\nday of rest the thing would be done.\"\n\n\"And what would all the good people do if they could not get to their\nfavorite preachers?\" said Larry.\n\n\"'Tis not for me to lay down plans for other people,\" said Jerry, \"but\nif they can't walk so far they can go to what is nearer; and if it\nshould rain they can put on their mackintoshes as they do on a week-day.\nIf a thing is right it can be done, and if it is wrong it can be done\nwithout; and a good man will find a way. And that is as true for us\ncabmen as it is for the church-goers.\"\n\n\n\n\n37 The Golden Rule\n\n\nTwo or three weeks after this, as we came into the yard rather late in\nthe evening, Polly came running across the road with the lantern (she\nalways brought it to him if it was not very wet).\n\n\"It has all come right, Jerry; Mrs. Briggs sent her servant this\nafternoon to ask you to take her out to-morrow at eleven o'clock. I\nsaid, 'Yes, I thought so, but we supposed she employed some one else\nnow.'\"\n\n\"'Well,' said he, 'the real fact is, master was put out because Mr.\nBarker refused to come on Sundays, and he has been trying other cabs,\nbut there's something wrong with them all; some drive too fast, and some\ntoo slow, and the mistress says there is not one of them so nice and\nclean as yours, and nothing will suit her but Mr. Barker's cab again.'\"\n\nPolly was almost out of breath, and Jerry broke out into a merry laugh.\n\n\"''Twill all come right some day or night': you were right, my dear; you\ngenerally are. Run in and get the supper, and I'll have Jack's harness\noff and make him snug and happy in no time.\"\n\nAfter this Mrs. Briggs wanted Jerry's cab quite as often as before,\nnever, however, on a Sunday; but there came a day when we had Sunday\nwork, and this was how it happened. We had all come home on the Saturday\nnight very tired, and very glad to think that the next day would be all\nrest, but so it was not to be.\n\nOn Sunday morning Jerry was cleaning me in the yard, when Polly stepped\nup to him, looking very full of something.\n\n\"What is it?\" said Jerry.\n\n\"Well, my dear,\" she said, \"poor Dinah Brown has just had a letter\nbrought to say that her mother is dangerously ill, and that she must\ngo directly if she wishes to see her alive. The place is more than ten\nmiles away from here, out in the country, and she says if she takes the\ntrain she should still have four miles to walk; and so weak as she is,\nand the baby only four weeks old, of course that would be impossible;\nand she wants to know if you would take her in your cab, and she\npromises to pay you faithfully, as she can get the money.\"\n\n\"Tut, tut! we'll see about that. It was not the money I was thinking\nabout, but of losing our Sunday; the horses are tired, and I am tired,\ntoo--that's where it pinches.\"\n\n\"It pinches all round, for that matter,\" said Polly, \"for it's only\nhalf Sunday without you, but you know we should do to other people as\nwe should like they should do to us; and I know very well what I should\nlike if my mother was dying; and Jerry, dear, I am sure it won't break\nthe Sabbath; for if pulling a poor beast or donkey out of a pit would\nnot spoil it, I am quite sure taking poor Dinah would not do it.\"\n\n\"Why, Polly, you are as good as the minister, and so, as I've had my\nSunday-morning sermon early to-day, you may go and tell Dinah that I'll\nbe ready for her as the clock strikes ten; but stop--just step round to\nbutcher Braydon's with my compliments, and ask him if he would lend me\nhis light trap; I know he never uses it on the Sunday, and it would make\na wonderful difference to the horse.\"\n\nAway she went, and soon returned, saying that he could have the trap and\nwelcome.\n\n\"All right,\" said he; \"now put me up a bit of bread and cheese, and I'll\nbe back in the afternoon as soon as I can.\"\n\n\"And I'll have the meat pie ready for an early tea instead of for\ndinner,\" said Polly; and away she went, while he made his preparations\nto the tune of \"Polly's the woman and no mistake\", of which tune he was\nvery fond.\n\nI was selected for the journey, and at ten o'clock we started, in a\nlight, high-wheeled gig, which ran so easily that after the four-wheeled\ncab it seemed like nothing.\n\nIt was a fine May day, and as soon as we were out of the town, the sweet\nair, the smell of the fresh grass, and the soft country roads were as\npleasant as they used to be in the old times, and I soon began to feel\nquite fresh.\n\nDinah's family lived in a small farmhouse, up a green lane, close by a\nmeadow with some fine shady trees; there were two cows feeding in it.\nA young man asked Jerry to bring his trap into the meadow, and he would\ntie me up in the cowshed; he wished he had a better stable to offer.\n\n\"If your cows would not be offended,\" said Jerry, \"there is nothing my\nhorse would like so well as to have an hour or two in your beautiful\nmeadow; he's quiet, and it would be a rare treat for him.\"\n\n\"Do, and welcome,\" said the young man; \"the best we have is at your\nservice for your kindness to my sister; we shall be having some dinner\nin an hour, and I hope you'll come in, though with mother so ill we are\nall out of sorts in the house.\"\n\nJerry thanked him kindly, but said as he had some dinner with him there\nwas nothing he should like so well as walking about in the meadow.\n\nWhen my harness was taken off I did not know what I should do\nfirst--whether to eat the grass, or roll over on my back, or lie down\nand rest, or have a gallop across the meadow out of sheer spirits at\nbeing free; and I did all by turns. Jerry seemed to be quite as happy\nas I was; he sat down by a bank under a shady tree, and listened to the\nbirds, then he sang himself, and read out of the little brown book he is\nso fond of, then wandered round the meadow, and down by a little brook,\nwhere he picked the flowers and the hawthorn, and tied them up with\nlong sprays of ivy; then he gave me a good feed of the oats which he had\nbrought with him; but the time seemed all too short--I had not been in a\nfield since I left poor Ginger at Earlshall.\n\nWe came home gently, and Jerry's first words were, as we came into the\nyard, \"Well, Polly, I have not lost my Sunday after all, for the birds\nwere singing hymns in every bush, and I joined in the service; and as\nfor Jack, he was like a young colt.\"\n\nWhen he handed Dolly the flowers she jumped about for joy.\n\n\n\n\n38 Dolly and a Real Gentleman\n\n\nWinter came in early, with a great deal of cold and wet. There was snow,\nor sleet, or rain almost every day for weeks, changing only for keen\ndriving winds or sharp frosts. The horses all felt it very much. When\nit is a dry cold a couple of good thick rugs will keep the warmth in us;\nbut when it is soaking rain they soon get wet through and are no good.\nSome of the drivers had a waterproof cover to throw over, which was a\nfine thing; but some of the men were so poor that they could not protect\neither themselves or their horses, and many of them suffered very much\nthat winter. When we horses had worked half the day we went to our dry\nstables, and could rest, while they had to sit on their boxes, sometimes\nstaying out as late as one or two o'clock in the morning if they had a\nparty to wait for.\n\nWhen the streets were slippery with frost or snow that was the worst of\nall for us horses. One mile of such traveling, with a weight to draw\nand no firm footing, would take more out of us than four on a good\nroad; every nerve and muscle of our bodies is on the strain to keep our\nbalance; and, added to this, the fear of falling is more exhausting than\nanything else. If the roads are very bad indeed our shoes are roughed,\nbut that makes us feel nervous at first.\n\nWhen the weather was very bad many of the men would go and sit in the\ntavern close by, and get some one to watch for them; but they often\nlost a fare in that way, and could not, as Jerry said, be there without\nspending money. He never went to the Rising Sun; there was a coffee-shop\nnear, where he now and then went, or he bought of an old man, who came\nto our rank with tins of hot coffee and pies. It was his opinion that\nspirits and beer made a man colder afterward, and that dry clothes, good\nfood, cheerfulness, and a comfortable wife at home, were the best things\nto keep a cabman warm. Polly always supplied him with something to eat\nwhen he could not get home, and sometimes he would see little Dolly\npeeping from the corner of the street, to make sure if \"father\" was on\nthe stand. If she saw him she would run off at full speed and soon come\nback with something in a tin or basket, some hot soup or pudding Polly\nhad ready. It was wonderful how such a little thing could get safely\nacross the street, often thronged with horses and carriages; but she was\na brave little maid, and felt it quite an honor to bring \"father's first\ncourse\", as he used to call it. She was a general favorite on the stand,\nand there was not a man who would not have seen her safely across the\nstreet, if Jerry had not been able to do it.\n\nOne cold windy day Dolly had brought Jerry a basin of something hot,\nand was standing by him while he ate it. He had scarcely begun when\na gentleman, walking toward us very fast, held up his umbrella. Jerry\ntouched his hat in return, gave the basin to Dolly, and was taking off\nmy cloth, when the gentleman, hastening up, cried out, \"No, no, finish\nyour soup, my friend; I have not much time to spare, but I can wait\ntill you have done, and set your little girl safe on the pavement.\" So\nsaying, he seated himself in the cab. Jerry thanked him kindly, and came\nback to Dolly.\n\n\"There, Dolly, that's a gentleman; that's a real gentleman, Dolly; he\nhas got time and thought for the comfort of a poor cabman and a little\ngirl.\"\n\nJerry finished his soup, set the child across, and then took his orders\nto drive to Clapham Rise. Several times after that the same gentleman\ntook our cab. I think he was very fond of dogs and horses, for whenever\nwe took him to his own door two or three dogs would come bounding out\nto meet him. Sometimes he came round and patted me, saying in his quiet,\npleasant way, \"This horse has got a good master, and he deserves it.\"\nIt was a very rare thing for any one to notice the horse that had been\nworking for him. I have known ladies to do it now and then, and this\ngentleman, and one or two others have given me a pat and a kind word;\nbut ninety-nine persons out of a hundred would as soon think of patting\nthe steam engine that drew the train.\n\nThe gentleman was not young, and there was a forward stoop in his\nshoulders as if he was always going at something. His lips were thin and\nclose shut, though they had a very pleasant smile; his eye was keen, and\nthere was something in his jaw and the motion of his head that made one\nthink he was very determined in anything he set about. His voice was\npleasant and kind; any horse would trust that voice, though it was just\nas decided as everything else about him.\n\nOne day he and another gentleman took our cab; they stopped at a shop\nin R---- Street, and while his friend went in he stood at the door. A\nlittle ahead of us on the other side of the street a cart with two very\nfine horses was standing before some wine vaults; the carter was not\nwith them, and I cannot tell how long they had been standing, but they\nseemed to think they had waited long enough, and began to move off.\nBefore they had gone many paces the carter came running out and caught\nthem. He seemed furious at their having moved, and with whip and rein\npunished them brutally, even beating them about the head. Our gentleman\nsaw it all, and stepping quickly across the street, said in a decided\nvoice:\n\n\"If you don't stop that directly, I'll have you arrested for leaving\nyour horses, and for brutal conduct.\"\n\nThe man, who had clearly been drinking, poured forth some abusive\nlanguage, but he left off knocking the horses about, and taking the\nreins, got into his cart; meantime our friend had quietly taken a\nnote-book from his pocket, and looking at the name and address painted\non the cart, he wrote something down.\n\n\"What do you want with that?\" growled the carter, as he cracked his whip\nand was moving on. A nod and a grim smile was the only answer he got.\n\nOn returning to the cab our friend was joined by his companion, who said\nlaughingly, \"I should have thought, Wright, you had enough business of\nyour own to look after, without troubling yourself about other people's\nhorses and servants.\"\n\nOur friend stood still for a moment, and throwing his head a little\nback, \"Do you know why this world is as bad as it is?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the other.\n\n\"Then I'll tell you. It is because people think only about their own\nbusiness, and won't trouble themselves to stand up for the oppressed,\nnor bring the wrongdoer to light. I never see a wicked thing like this\nwithout doing what I can, and many a master has thanked me for letting\nhim know how his horses have been used.\"\n\n\"I wish there were more gentlemen like you, sir,\" said Jerry, \"for they\nare wanted badly enough in this city.\"\n\nAfter this we continued our journey, and as they got out of the cab our\nfriend was saying, \"My doctrine is this, that if we see cruelty or\nwrong that we have the power to stop, and do nothing, we make ourselves\nsharers in the guilt.\"\n\n\n\n\n39 Seedy Sam\n\n\nI should say that for a cab-horse I was very well off indeed; my driver\nwas my owner, and it was his interest to treat me well and not overwork\nme, even had he not been so good a man as he was; but there were a great\nmany horses which belonged to the large cab-owners, who let them out to\ntheir drivers for so much money a day. As the horses did not belong to\nthese men the only thing they thought of was how to get their money out\nof them, first, to pay the master, and then to provide for their own\nliving; and a dreadful time some of these horses had of it. Of course,\nI understood but little, but it was often talked over on the stand,\nand the governor, who was a kind-hearted man and fond of horses, would\nsometimes speak up if one came in very much jaded or ill-used.\n\nOne day a shabby, miserable-looking driver, who went by the name of\n\"Seedy Sam\", brought in his horse looking dreadfully beat, and the\ngovernor said:\n\n\"You and your horse look more fit for the police station than for this\nrank.\"\n\nThe man flung his tattered rug over the horse, turned full round upon\nthe Governor and said in a voice that sounded almost desperate:\n\n\"If the police have any business with the matter it ought to be with the\nmasters who charge us so much, or with the fares that are fixed so low.\nIf a man has to pay eighteen shillings a day for the use of a cab and\ntwo horses, as many of us have to do in the season, and must make that\nup before we earn a penny for ourselves I say 'tis more than hard work;\nnine shillings a day to get out of each horse before you begin to get\nyour own living. You know that's true, and if the horses don't work we\nmust starve, and I and my children have known what that is before now.\nI've six of 'em, and only one earns anything; I am on the stand fourteen\nor sixteen hours a day, and I haven't had a Sunday these ten or twelve\nweeks; you know Skinner never gives a day if he can help it, and if I\ndon't work hard, tell me who does! I want a warm coat and a mackintosh,\nbut with so many to feed how can a man get it? I had to pledge my clock\na week ago to pay Skinner, and I shall never see it again.\"\n\nSome of the other drivers stood round nodding their heads and saying he\nwas right. The man went on:\n\n\"You that have your own horses and cabs, or drive for good masters, have\na chance of getting on and a chance of doing right; I haven't. We can't\ncharge more than sixpence a mile after the first, within the four-mile\nradius. This very morning I had to go a clear six miles and only took\nthree shillings. I could not get a return fare, and had to come all the\nway back; there's twelve miles for the horse and three shillings for me.\nAfter that I had a three-mile fare, and there were bags and boxes enough\nto have brought in a good many twopences if they had been put outside;\nbut you know how people do; all that could be piled up inside on the\nfront seat were put in and three heavy boxes went on the top. That\nwas sixpence, and the fare one and sixpence; then I got a return for a\nshilling. Now that makes eighteen miles for the horse and six shillings\nfor me; there's three shillings still for that horse to earn and nine\nshillings for the afternoon horse before I touch a penny. Of course, it\nis not always so bad as that, but you know it often is, and I say 'tis\na mockery to tell a man that he must not overwork his horse, for when a\nbeast is downright tired there's nothing but the whip that will keep\nhis legs a-going; you can't help yourself--you must put your wife and\nchildren before the horse; the masters must look to that, we can't. I\ndon't ill-use my horse for the sake of it; none of you can say I do.\nThere's wrong lays somewhere--never a day's rest, never a quiet hour\nwith the wife and children. I often feel like an old man, though I'm\nonly forty-five. You know how quick some of the gentry are to suspect us\nof cheating and overcharging; why, they stand with their purses in\ntheir hands counting it over to a penny and looking at us as if we were\npickpockets. I wish some of 'em had got to sit on my box sixteen hours\na day and get a living out of it and eighteen shillings beside, and that\nin all weathers; they would not be so uncommon particular never to give\nus a sixpence over or to cram all the luggage inside. Of course, some of\n'em tip us pretty handsome now and then, or else we could not live; but\nyou can't depend upon that.\"\n\nThe men who stood round much approved this speech, and one of them said,\n\"It is desperate hard, and if a man sometimes does what is wrong it is\nno wonder, and if he gets a dram too much who's to blow him up?\"\n\nJerry had taken no part in this conversation, but I never saw his face\nlook so sad before. The governor had stood with both his hands in his\npockets; now he took his handkerchief out of his hat and wiped his\nforehead.\n\n\"You've beaten me, Sam,\" he said, \"for it's all true, and I won't cast\nit up to you any more about the police; it was the look in that horse's\neye that came over me. It is hard lines for man and it is hard lines for\nbeast, and who's to mend it I don't know: but anyway you might tell\nthe poor beast that you were sorry to take it out of him in that way.\nSometimes a kind word is all we can give 'em, poor brutes, and 'tis\nwonderful what they do understand.\"\n\nA few mornings after this talk a new man came on the stand with Sam's\ncab.\n\n\"Halloo!\" said one, \"what's up with Seedy Sam?\"\n\n\"He's ill in bed,\" said the man; \"he was taken last night in the yard,\nand could scarcely crawl home. His wife sent a boy this morning to\nsay his father was in a high fever and could not get out, so I'm here\ninstead.\"\n\nThe next morning the same man came again.\n\n\"How is Sam?\" inquired the governor.\n\n\"He's gone,\" said the man.\n\n\"What, gone? You don't mean to say he's dead?\"\n\n\"Just snuffed out,\" said the other; \"he died at four o'clock this\nmorning; all yesterday he was raving--raving about Skinner, and having\nno Sundays. 'I never had a Sunday's rest,' these were his last words.\"\n\nNo one spoke for a while, and then the governor said, \"I'll tell you\nwhat, mates, this is a warning for us.\"\n\n\n\n\n40 Poor Ginger\n\n\nOne day, while our cab and many others were waiting outside one of the\nparks where music was playing, a shabby old cab drove up beside ours.\nThe horse was an old worn-out chestnut, with an ill-kept coat, and\nbones that showed plainly through it, the knees knuckled over, and the\nfore-legs were very unsteady. I had been eating some hay, and the wind\nrolled a little lock of it that way, and the poor creature put out her\nlong thin neck and picked it up, and then turned and looked about for\nmore. There was a hopeless look in the dull eye that I could not help\nnoticing, and then, as I was thinking where I had seen that horse\nbefore, she looked full at me and said, \"Black Beauty, is that you?\"\n\nIt was Ginger! but how changed! The beautifully arched and glossy neck\nwas now straight, and lank, and fallen in; the clean straight legs and\ndelicate fetlocks were swelled; the joints were grown out of shape with\nhard work; the face, that was once so full of spirit and life, was now\nfull of suffering, and I could tell by the heaving of her sides, and her\nfrequent cough, how bad her breath was.\n\nOur drivers were standing together a little way off, so I sidled up to\nher a step or two, that we might have a little quiet talk. It was a sad\ntale that she had to tell.\n\nAfter a twelvemonth's run off at Earlshall, she was considered to be fit\nfor work again, and was sold to a gentleman. For a little while she\ngot on very well, but after a longer gallop than usual the old strain\nreturned, and after being rested and doctored she was again sold. In\nthis way she changed hands several times, but always getting lower down.\n\n\"And so at last,\" said she, \"I was bought by a man who keeps a number of\ncabs and horses, and lets them out. You look well off, and I am glad of\nit, but I could not tell you what my life has been. When they found out\nmy weakness they said I was not worth what they gave for me, and that I\nmust go into one of the low cabs, and just be used up; that is what\nthey are doing, whipping and working with never one thought of what I\nsuffer--they paid for me, and must get it out of me, they say. The man\nwho hires me now pays a deal of money to the owner every day, and so he\nhas to get it out of me too; and so it's all the week round and round,\nwith never a Sunday rest.\"\n\nI said, \"You used to stand up for yourself if you were ill-used.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" she said, \"I did once, but it's no use; men are strongest, and if\nthey are cruel and have no feeling, there is nothing that we can do, but\njust bear it--bear it on and on to the end. I wish the end was come,\nI wish I was dead. I have seen dead horses, and I am sure they do not\nsuffer pain; I wish I may drop down dead at my work, and not be sent off\nto the knackers.\"\n\nI was very much troubled, and I put my nose up to hers, but I could say\nnothing to comfort her. I think she was pleased to see me, for she said,\n\"You are the only friend I ever had.\"\n\nJust then her driver came up, and with a tug at her mouth backed her out\nof the line and drove off, leaving me very sad indeed.\n\nA short time after this a cart with a dead horse in it passed our\ncab-stand. The head hung out of the cart-tail, the lifeless tongue was\nslowly dropping with blood; and the sunken eyes! but I can't speak of\nthem, the sight was too dreadful. It was a chestnut horse with a long,\nthin neck. I saw a white streak down the forehead. I believe it was\nGinger; I hoped it was, for then her troubles would be over. Oh! if men\nwere more merciful they would shoot us before we came to such misery.\n\n\n\n\n41 The Butcher\n\n\nI saw a great deal of trouble among the horses in London, and much of\nit might have been prevented by a little common sense. We horses do not\nmind hard work if we are treated reasonably, and I am sure there are\nmany driven by quite poor men who have a happier life than I had when I\nused to go in the Countess of W----'s carriage, with my silver-mounted\nharness and high feeding.\n\nIt often went to my heart to see how the little ponies were used,\nstraining along with heavy loads or staggering under heavy blows from\nsome low, cruel boy. Once I saw a little gray pony with a thick mane\nand a pretty head, and so much like Merrylegs that if I had not been in\nharness I should have neighed to him. He was doing his best to pull a\nheavy cart, while a strong rough boy was cutting him under the belly\nwith his whip and chucking cruelly at his little mouth. Could it be\nMerrylegs? It was just like him; but then Mr. Blomefield was never to\nsell him, and I think he would not do it; but this might have been quite\nas good a little fellow, and had as happy a place when he was young.\n\nI often noticed the great speed at which butchers' horses were made to\ngo, though I did not know why it was so till one day when we had to wait\nsome time in St. John's Wood. There was a butcher's shop next door, and\nas we were standing a butcher's cart came dashing up at a great pace.\nThe horse was hot and much exhausted; he hung his head down, while his\nheaving sides and trembling legs showed how hard he had been driven. The\nlad jumped out of the cart and was getting the basket when the master\ncame out of the shop much displeased. After looking at the horse he\nturned angrily to the lad.\n\n\"How many times shall I tell you not to drive in this way? You ruined\nthe last horse and broke his wind, and you are going to ruin this in the\nsame way. If you were not my own son I would dismiss you on the spot;\nit is a disgrace to have a horse brought to the shop in a condition like\nthat; you are liable to be taken up by the police for such driving, and\nif you are you need not look to me for bail, for I have spoken to you\ntill I'm tired; you must look out for yourself.\"\n\nDuring this speech the boy had stood by, sullen and dogged, but when his\nfather ceased he broke out angrily. It wasn't his fault, and he wouldn't\ntake the blame; he was only going by orders all the time.\n\n\"You always say, 'Now be quick; now look sharp!' and when I go to the\nhouses one wants a leg of mutton for an early dinner and I must be back\nwith it in a quarter of an hour; another cook has forgotten to order\nthe beef; I must go and fetch it and be back in no time, or the\nmistress will scold; and the housekeeper says they have company coming\nunexpectedly and must have some chops sent up directly; and the lady at\nNo. 4, in the Crescent, never orders her dinner till the meat comes\nin for lunch, and it's nothing but hurry, hurry, all the time. If the\ngentry would think of what they want, and order their meat the day\nbefore, there need not be this blow up!\"\n\n\"I wish to goodness they would,\" said the butcher; \"'twould save me a\nwonderful deal of harass, and I could suit my customers much better if\nI knew beforehand--But there! what's the use of talking--who ever thinks\nof a butcher's convenience or a butcher's horse! Now, then, take him\nin and look to him well; mind, he does not go out again to-day, and if\nanything else is wanted you must carry it yourself in the basket.\" With\nthat he went in, and the horse was led away.\n\nBut all boys are not cruel. I have seen some as fond of their pony or\ndonkey as if it had been a favorite dog, and the little creatures have\nworked away as cheerfully and willingly for their young drivers as I\nwork for Jerry. It may be hard work sometimes, but a friend's hand and\nvoice make it easy.\n\nThere was a young coster-boy who came up our street with greens and\npotatoes; he had an old pony, not very handsome, but the cheerfullest\nand pluckiest little thing I ever saw, and to see how fond those two\nwere of each other was a treat. The pony followed his master like a dog,\nand when he got into his cart would trot off without a whip or a word,\nand rattle down the street as merrily as if he had come out of the\nqueen's stables. Jerry liked the boy, and called him \"Prince Charlie\",\nfor he said he would make a king of drivers some day.\n\nThere was an old man, too, who used to come up our street with a little\ncoal cart; he wore a coal-heaver's hat, and looked rough and black. He\nand his old horse used to plod together along the street, like two good\npartners who understood each other; the horse would stop of his own\naccord at the doors where they took coal of him; he used to keep one ear\nbent toward his master. The old man's cry could be heard up the street\nlong before he came near. I never knew what he said, but the children\ncalled him \"Old Ba-a-ar Hoo\", for it sounded like that. Polly took her\ncoal of him, and was very friendly, and Jerry said it was a comfort to\nthink how happy an old horse might be in a poor place.\n\n\n\n\n42 The Election\n\n\nAs we came into the yard one afternoon Polly came out. \"Jerry! I've had\nMr. B---- here asking about your vote, and he wants to hire your cab for\nthe election; he will call for an answer.\"\n\n\"Well, Polly, you may say that my cab will be otherwise engaged. I\nshould not like to have it pasted over with their great bills, and as\nto making Jack and Captain race about to the public-houses to bring up\nhalf-drunken voters, why, I think 'twould be an insult to the horses.\nNo, I shan't do it.\"\n\n\"I suppose you'll vote for the gentleman? He said he was of your\npolitics.\"\n\n\"So he is in some things, but I shall not vote for him, Polly; you know\nwhat his trade is?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Well, a man who gets rich by that trade may be all very well in some\nways, but he is blind as to what workingmen want; I could not in my\nconscience send him up to make the laws. I dare say they'll be angry,\nbut every man must do what he thinks to be the best for his country.\"\n\nOn the morning before the election, Jerry was putting me into the\nshafts, when Dolly came into the yard sobbing and crying, with her\nlittle blue frock and white pinafore spattered all over with mud.\n\n\"Why, Dolly, what is the matter?\"\n\n\"Those naughty boys,\" she sobbed, \"have thrown the dirt all over me, and\ncalled me a little raga--raga--\"\n\n\"They called her a little 'blue' ragamuffin, father,\" said Harry, who\nran in looking very angry; \"but I have given it to them; they won't\ninsult my sister again. I have given them a thrashing they will\nremember; a set of cowardly, rascally 'orange' blackguards.\"\n\nJerry kissed the child and said, \"Run in to mother, my pet, and tell her\nI think you had better stay at home to-day and help her.\"\n\nThen turning gravely to Harry:\n\n\"My boy, I hope you will always defend your sister, and give anybody who\ninsults her a good thrashing--that is as it should be; but mind, I won't\nhave any election blackguarding on my premises. There are as many\n'blue' blackguards as there are 'orange', and as many white as there are\npurple, or any other color, and I won't have any of my family mixed up\nwith it. Even women and children are ready to quarrel for the sake of a\ncolor, and not one in ten of them knows what it is about.\"\n\n\"Why, father, I thought blue was for Liberty.\"\n\n\"My boy, Liberty does not come from colors, they only show party, and\nall the liberty you can get out of them is, liberty to get drunk at\nother people's expense, liberty to ride to the poll in a dirty old cab,\nliberty to abuse any one that does not wear your color, and to shout\nyourself hoarse at what you only half-understand--that's your liberty!\"\n\n\"Oh, father, you are laughing.\"\n\n\"No, Harry, I am serious, and I am ashamed to see how men go on who\nought to know better. An election is a very serious thing; at least it\nought to be, and every man ought to vote according to his conscience,\nand let his neighbor do the same.\"\n\n\n\n\n43 A Friend in Need\n\n\nThe election day came at last; there was no lack of work for Jerry and\nme. First came a stout puffy gentleman with a carpet bag; he wanted to\ngo to the Bishopsgate station; then we were called by a party who wished\nto be taken to the Regent's Park; and next we were wanted in a side\nstreet where a timid, anxious old lady was waiting to be taken to the\nbank; there we had to stop to take her back again, and just as we had\nset her down a red-faced gentleman, with a handful of papers, came\nrunning up out of breath, and before Jerry could get down he had opened\nthe door, popped himself in, and called out, \"Bow Street Police Station,\nquick!\" so off we went with him, and when after another turn or two\nwe came back, there was no other cab on the stand. Jerry put on my\nnose-bag, for as he said, \"We must eat when we can on such days as\nthese; so munch away, Jack, and make the best of your time, old boy.\"\n\nI found I had a good feed of crushed oats wetted up with a little bran;\nthis would be a treat any day, but very refreshing then. Jerry was so\nthoughtful and kind--what horse would not do his best for such a master?\nThen he took out one of Polly's meat pies, and standing near me, he\nbegan to eat it. The streets were very full, and the cabs, with the\ncandidates' colors on them, were dashing about through the crowd as if\nlife and limb were of no consequence; we saw two people knocked down\nthat day, and one was a woman. The horses were having a bad time of it,\npoor things! but the voters inside thought nothing of that; many of them\nwere half-drunk, hurrahing out of the cab windows if their own party\ncame by. It was the first election I had seen, and I don't want to be in\nanother, though I have heard things are better now.\n\nJerry and I had not eaten many mouthfuls before a poor young woman,\ncarrying a heavy child, came along the street. She was looking this way\nand that way, and seemed quite bewildered. Presently she made her way up\nto Jerry and asked if he could tell her the way to St. Thomas' Hospital,\nand how far it was to get there. She had come from the country that\nmorning, she said, in a market cart; she did not know about the\nelection, and was quite a stranger in London. She had got an order for\nthe hospital for her little boy. The child was crying with a feeble,\npining cry.\n\n\"Poor little fellow!\" she said, \"he suffers a deal of pain; he is four\nyears old and can't walk any more than a baby; but the doctor said if I\ncould get him into the hospital he might get well; pray, sir, how far is\nit; and which way is it?\"\n\n\"Why, missis,\" said Jerry, \"you can't get there walking through crowds\nlike this! why, it is three miles away, and that child is heavy.\"\n\n\"Yes, bless him, he is; but I am strong, thank God, and if I knew the\nway I think I should get on somehow; please tell me the way.\"\n\n\"You can't do it,\" said Jerry, \"you might be knocked down and the child\nbe run over. Now look here, just get into this cab, and I'll drive you\nsafe to the hospital. Don't you see the rain is coming on?\"\n\n\"No, sir, no; I can't do that, thank you, I have only just money enough\nto get back with. Please tell me the way.\"\n\n\"Look you here, missis,\" said Jerry, \"I've got a wife and dear children\nat home, and I know a father's feelings; now get you into that cab, and\nI'll take you there for nothing. I'd be ashamed of myself to let a woman\nand a sick child run a risk like that.\"\n\n\"Heaven bless you!\" said the woman, and burst into tears.\n\n\"There, there, cheer up, my dear, I'll soon take you there; come, let me\nput you inside.\"\n\nAs Jerry went to open the door two men, with colors in their hats and\nbuttonholes, ran up calling out, \"Cab!\"\n\n\"Engaged,\" cried Jerry; but one of the men, pushing past the woman,\nsprang into the cab, followed by the other. Jerry looked as stern as a\npoliceman. \"This cab is already engaged, gentlemen, by that lady.\"\n\n\"Lady!\" said one of them; \"oh! she can wait; our business is very\nimportant, besides we were in first, it is our right, and we shall stay\nin.\"\n\nA droll smile came over Jerry's face as he shut the door upon them. \"All\nright, gentlemen, pray stay in as long as it suits you; I can wait while\nyou rest yourselves.\" And turning his back upon them he walked up to the\nyoung woman, who was standing near me. \"They'll soon be gone,\" he said,\nlaughing; \"don't trouble yourself, my dear.\"\n\nAnd they soon were gone, for when they understood Jerry's dodge they got\nout, calling him all sorts of bad names and blustering about his number\nand getting a summons. After this little stoppage we were soon on our\nway to the hospital, going as much as possible through by-streets. Jerry\nrung the great bell and helped the young woman out.\n\n\"Thank you a thousand times,\" she said; \"I could never have got here\nalone.\"\n\n\"You're kindly welcome, and I hope the dear child will soon be better.\"\n\nHe watched her go in at the door, and gently he said to himself,\n\"Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of these.\" Then he\npatted my neck, which was always his way when anything pleased him.\n\nThe rain was now coming down fast, and just as we were leaving the\nhospital the door opened again, and the porter called out, \"Cab!\" We\nstopped, and a lady came down the steps. Jerry seemed to know her at\nonce; she put back her veil and said, \"Barker! Jeremiah Barker, is it\nyou? I am very glad to find you here; you are just the friend I want,\nfor it is very difficult to get a cab in this part of London to-day.\"\n\n\"I shall be proud to serve you, ma'am; I am right glad I happened to be\nhere. Where may I take you to, ma'am?\"\n\n\"To the Paddington Station, and then if we are in good time, as I think\nwe shall be, you shall tell me all about Mary and the children.\"\n\nWe got to the station in good time, and being under shelter the lady\nstood a good while talking to Jerry. I found she had been Polly's\nmistress, and after many inquiries about her she said:\n\n\"How do you find the cab work suit you in winter? I know Mary was rather\nanxious about you last year.\"\n\n\"Yes, ma'am, she was; I had a bad cough that followed me up quite into\nthe warm weather, and when I am kept out late she does worry herself a\ngood deal. You see, ma'am, it is all hours and all weathers, and that\ndoes try a man's constitution; but I am getting on pretty well, and I\nshould feel quite lost if I had not horses to look after. I was brought\nup to it, and I am afraid I should not do so well at anything else.\"\n\n\"Well, Barker,\" she said, \"it would be a great pity that you should\nseriously risk your health in this work, not only for your own but for\nMary's and the children's sake; there are many places where good drivers\nor good grooms are wanted, and if ever you think you ought to give up\nthis cab work let me know.\"\n\nThen sending some kind messages to Mary she put something into his hand,\nsaying, \"There is five shillings each for the two children; Mary will\nknow how to spend it.\"\n\nJerry thanked her and seemed much pleased, and turning out of the\nstation we at last reached home, and I, at least, was tired.\n\n\n\n\n44 Old Captain and His Successor\n\n\nCaptain and I were great friends. He was a noble old fellow, and he was\nvery good company. I never thought that he would have to leave his home\nand go down the hill; but his turn came, and this was how it happened. I\nwas not there, but I heard all about it.\n\nHe and Jerry had taken a party to the great railway station over London\nBridge, and were coming back, somewhere between the bridge and the\nmonument, when Jerry saw a brewer's empty dray coming along, drawn by\ntwo powerful horses. The drayman was lashing his horses with his heavy\nwhip; the dray was light, and they started off at a furious rate; the\nman had no control over them, and the street was full of traffic.\n\nOne young girl was knocked down and run over, and the next moment they\ndashed up against our cab; both the wheels were torn off and the cab was\nthrown over. Captain was dragged down, the shafts splintered, and one\nof them ran into his side. Jerry, too, was thrown, but was only bruised;\nnobody could tell how he escaped; he always said 'twas a miracle. When\npoor Captain was got up he was found to be very much cut and knocked\nabout. Jerry led him home gently, and a sad sight it was to see the\nblood soaking into his white coat and dropping from his side and\nshoulder. The drayman was proved to be very drunk, and was fined, and\nthe brewer had to pay damages to our master; but there was no one to pay\ndamages to poor Captain.\n\nThe farrier and Jerry did the best they could to ease his pain and make\nhim comfortable. The fly had to be mended, and for several days I did\nnot go out, and Jerry earned nothing. The first time we went to the\nstand after the accident the governor came up to hear how Captain was.\n\n\"He'll never get over it,\" said Jerry, \"at least not for my work, so the\nfarrier said this morning. He says he may do for carting, and that sort\nof work. It has put me out very much. Carting, indeed! I've seen what\nhorses come to at that work round London. I only wish all the drunkards\ncould be put in a lunatic asylum instead of being allowed to run foul of\nsober people. If they would break their own bones, and smash their own\ncarts, and lame their own horses, that would be their own affair, and\nwe might let them alone, but it seems to me that the innocent\nalways suffer; and then they talk about compensation! You can't make\ncompensation; there's all the trouble, and vexation, and loss of time,\nbesides losing a good horse that's like an old friend--it's nonsense\ntalking of compensation! If there's one devil that I should like to see\nin the bottomless pit more than another, it's the drink devil.\"\n\n\"I say, Jerry,\" said the governor, \"you are treading pretty hard on my\ntoes, you know; I'm not so good as you are, more shame to me; I wish I\nwas.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Jerry, \"why don't you cut with it, governor? You are too\ngood a man to be the slave of such a thing.\"\n\n\"I'm a great fool, Jerry, but I tried once for two days, and I thought I\nshould have died; how did you do?\"\n\n\"I had hard work at it for several weeks; you see I never did get drunk,\nbut I found that I was not my own master, and that when the craving came\non it was hard work to say 'no'. I saw that one of us must knock under,\nthe drink devil or Jerry Barker, and I said that it should not be Jerry\nBarker, God helping me; but it was a struggle, and I wanted all the\nhelp I could get, for till I tried to break the habit I did not know how\nstrong it was; but then Polly took such pains that I should have good\nfood, and when the craving came on I used to get a cup of coffee, or\nsome peppermint, or read a bit in my book, and that was a help to me;\nsometimes I had to say over and over to myself, 'Give up the drink or\nlose your soul! Give up the drink or break Polly's heart!' But thanks be\nto God, and my dear wife, my chains were broken, and now for ten years I\nhave not tasted a drop, and never wish for it.\"\n\n\"I've a great mind to try at it,\" said Grant, \"for 'tis a poor thing not\nto be one's own master.\"\n\n\"Do, governor, do, you'll never repent it, and what a help it would be\nto some of the poor fellows in our rank if they saw you do without it. I\nknow there's two or three would like to keep out of that tavern if they\ncould.\"\n\nAt first Captain seemed to do well, but he was a very old horse, and it\nwas only his wonderful constitution, and Jerry's care, that had kept\nhim up at the cab work so long; now he broke down very much. The farrier\nsaid he might mend up enough to sell for a few pounds, but Jerry said,\nno! a few pounds got by selling a good old servant into hard work\nand misery would canker all the rest of his money, and he thought the\nkindest thing he could do for the fine old fellow would be to put a sure\nbullet through his head, and then he would never suffer more; for he did\nnot know where to find a kind master for the rest of his days.\n\nThe day after this was decided Harry took me to the forge for some new\nshoes; when I returned Captain was gone. I and the family all felt it\nvery much.\n\nJerry had now to look out for another horse, and he soon heard of one\nthrough an acquaintance who was under-groom in a nobleman's stables. He\nwas a valuable young horse, but he had run away, smashed into another\ncarriage, flung his lordship out, and so cut and blemished himself that\nhe was no longer fit for a gentleman's stables, and the coachman had\norders to look round, and sell him as well as he could.\n\n\"I can do with high spirits,\" said Jerry, \"if a horse is not vicious or\nhard-mouthed.\"\n\n\"There is not a bit of vice in him,\" said the man; \"his mouth is very\ntender, and I think myself that was the cause of the accident; you see\nhe had just been clipped, and the weather was bad, and he had not had\nexercise enough, and when he did go out he was as full of spring as a\nballoon. Our governor (the coachman, I mean) had him harnessed in as\ntight and strong as he could, with the martingale, and the check-rein, a\nvery sharp curb, and the reins put in at the bottom bar. It is my belief\nthat it made the horse mad, being tender in the mouth and so full of\nspirit.\"\n\n\"Likely enough; I'll come and see him,\" said Jerry.\n\nThe next day Hotspur, that was his name, came home; he was a fine brown\nhorse, without a white hair in him, as tall as Captain, with a very\nhandsome head, and only five years old. I gave him a friendly greeting\nby way of good fellowship, but did not ask him any questions. The first\nnight he was very restless. Instead of lying down, he kept jerking his\nhalter rope up and down through the ring, and knocking the block about\nagainst the manger till I could not sleep. However, the next day, after\nfive or six hours in the cab, he came in quiet and sensible. Jerry\npatted and talked to him a good deal, and very soon they understood each\nother, and Jerry said that with an easy bit and plenty of work he would\nbe as gentle as a lamb; and that it was an ill wind that blew nobody\ngood, for if his lordship had lost a hundred-guinea favorite, the cabman\nhad gained a good horse with all his strength in him.\n\nHotspur thought it a great come-down to be a cab-horse, and was\ndisgusted at standing in the rank, but he confessed to me at the end of\nthe week that an easy mouth and a free head made up for a great deal,\nand after all, the work was not so degrading as having one's head and\ntail fastened to each other at the saddle. In fact, he settled in well,\nand Jerry liked him very much.\n\n\n\n\n45 Jerry's New Year\n\n\nFor some people Christmas and the New Year are very merry times; but for\ncabmen and cabmen's horses it is no holiday, though it may be a harvest.\nThere are so many parties, balls, and places of amusement open that the\nwork is hard and often late. Sometimes driver and horse have to wait\nfor hours in the rain or frost, shivering with the cold, while the merry\npeople within are dancing away to the music. I wonder if the beautiful\nladies ever think of the weary cabman waiting on his box, and his\npatient beast standing, till his legs get stiff with cold.\n\nI had now most of the evening work, as I was well accustomed to\nstanding, and Jerry was also more afraid of Hotspur taking cold. We had\na great deal of late work in the Christmas week, and Jerry's cough was\nbad; but however late we were, Polly sat up for him, and came out with a\nlantern to meet him, looking anxious and troubled.\n\nOn the evening of the New Year we had to take two gentlemen to a house\nin one of the West End Squares. We set them down at nine o'clock, and\nwere told to come again at eleven, \"but,\" said one, \"as it is a card\nparty, you may have to wait a few minutes, but don't be late.\"\n\nAs the clock struck eleven we were at the door, for Jerry was always\npunctual. The clock chimed the quarters, one, two, three, and then\nstruck twelve, but the door did not open.\n\nThe wind had been very changeable, with squalls of rain during the day,\nbut now it came on sharp, driving sleet, which seemed to come all the\nway round; it was very cold, and there was no shelter. Jerry got off\nhis box and came and pulled one of my cloths a little more over my neck;\nthen he took a turn or two up and down, stamping his feet; then he began\nto beat his arms, but that set him off coughing; so he opened the cab\ndoor and sat at the bottom with his feet on the pavement, and was a\nlittle sheltered. Still the clock chimed the quarters, and no one came.\nAt half-past twelve he rang the bell and asked the servant if he would\nbe wanted that night.\n\n\"Oh, yes, you'll be wanted safe enough,\" said the man; \"you must not go,\nit will soon be over,\" and again Jerry sat down, but his voice was so\nhoarse I could hardly hear him.\n\nAt a quarter past one the door opened, and the two gentlemen came out;\nthey got into the cab without a word, and told Jerry where to drive,\nthat was nearly two miles. My legs were numb with cold, and I thought\nI should have stumbled. When the men got out they never said they were\nsorry to have kept us waiting so long, but were angry at the charge;\nhowever, as Jerry never charged more than was his due, so he never took\nless, and they had to pay for the two hours and a quarter waiting; but\nit was hard-earned money to Jerry.\n\nAt last we got home; he could hardly speak, and his cough was dreadful.\nPolly asked no questions, but opened the door and held the lantern for\nhim.\n\n\"Can't I do something?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes; get Jack something warm, and then boil me some gruel.\"\n\nThis was said in a hoarse whisper; he could hardly get his breath, but\nhe gave me a rub-down as usual, and even went up into the hayloft for an\nextra bundle of straw for my bed. Polly brought me a warm mash that made\nme comfortable, and then they locked the door.\n\nIt was late the next morning before any one came, and then it was only\nHarry. He cleaned us and fed us, and swept out the stalls, then he put\nthe straw back again as if it was Sunday. He was very still, and neither\nwhistled nor sang. At noon he came again and gave us our food and water;\nthis time Dolly came with him; she was crying, and I could gather from\nwhat they said that Jerry was dangerously ill, and the doctor said it\nwas a bad case. So two days passed, and there was great trouble indoors.\nWe only saw Harry, and sometimes Dolly. I think she came for company,\nfor Polly was always with Jerry, and he had to be kept very quiet.\n\nOn the third day, while Harry was in the stable, a tap came at the door,\nand Governor Grant came in.\n\n\"I wouldn't go to the house, my boy,\" he said, \"but I want to know how\nyour father is.\"\n\n\"He is very bad,\" said Harry, \"he can't be much worse; they call\nit 'bronchitis'; the doctor thinks it will turn one way or another\nto-night.\"\n\n\"That's bad, very bad,\" said Grant, shaking his head; \"I know two men\nwho died of that last week; it takes 'em off in no time; but while\nthere's life there's hope, so you must keep up your spirits.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Harry quickly, \"and the doctor said that father had a better\nchance than most men, because he didn't drink. He said yesterday the\nfever was so high that if father had been a drinking man it would have\nburned him up like a piece of paper; but I believe he thinks he will get\nover it; don't you think he will, Mr. Grant?\"\n\nThe governor looked puzzled.\n\n\"If there's any rule that good men should get over these things, I'm\nsure he will, my boy; he's the best man I know. I'll look in early\nto-morrow.\"\n\nEarly next morning he was there.\n\n\"Well?\" said he.\n\n\"Father is better,\" said Harry. \"Mother hopes he will get over it.\"\n\n\"Thank God!\" said the governor, \"and now you must keep him warm, and\nkeep his mind easy, and that brings me to the horses; you see Jack will\nbe all the better for the rest of a week or two in a warm stable, and\nyou can easily take him a turn up and down the street to stretch his\nlegs; but this young one, if he does not get work, he will soon be all\nup on end, as you may say, and will be rather too much for you; and when\nhe does go out there'll be an accident.\"\n\n\"It is like that now,\" said Harry. \"I have kept him short of corn, but\nhe's so full of spirit I don't know what to do with him.\"\n\n\"Just so,\" said Grant. \"Now look here, will you tell your mother that\nif she is agreeable I will come for him every day till something is\narranged, and take him for a good spell of work, and whatever he earns,\nI'll bring your mother half of it, and that will help with the horses'\nfeed. Your father is in a good club, I know, but that won't keep the\nhorses, and they'll be eating their heads off all this time; I'll come\nat noon and hear what she says,\" and without waiting for Harry's thanks\nhe was gone.\n\nAt noon I think he went and saw Polly, for he and Harry came to the\nstable together, harnessed Hotspur, and took him out.\n\nFor a week or more he came for Hotspur, and when Harry thanked him or\nsaid anything about his kindness, he laughed it off, saying it was all\ngood luck for him, for his horses were wanting a little rest which they\nwould not otherwise have had.\n\nJerry grew better steadily, but the doctor said that he must never go\nback to the cab work again if he wished to be an old man. The children\nhad many consultations together about what father and mother would do,\nand how they could help to earn money.\n\nOne afternoon Hotspur was brought in very wet and dirty.\n\n\"The streets are nothing but slush,\" said the governor; \"it will give\nyou a good warming, my boy, to get him clean and dry.\"\n\n\"All right, governor,\" said Harry, \"I shall not leave him till he is;\nyou know I have been trained by my father.\"\n\n\"I wish all the boys had been trained like you,\" said the governor.\n\nWhile Harry was sponging off the mud from Hotspur's body and legs Dolly\ncame in, looking very full of something.\n\n\"Who lives at Fairstowe, Harry? Mother has got a letter from Fairstowe;\nshe seemed so glad, and ran upstairs to father with it.\"\n\n\"Don't you know? Why, it is the name of Mrs. Fowler's place--mother's\nold mistress, you know--the lady that father met last summer, who sent\nyou and me five shillings each.\"\n\n\"Oh! Mrs. Fowler. Of course, I know all about her. I wonder what she is\nwriting to mother about.\"\n\n\"Mother wrote to her last week,\" said Harry; \"you know she told father\nif ever he gave up the cab work she would like to know. I wonder what\nshe says; run in and see, Dolly.\"\n\nHarry scrubbed away at Hotspur with a huish! huish! like any old\nhostler. In a few minutes Dolly came dancing into the stable.\n\n\"Oh! Harry, there never was anything so beautiful; Mrs. Fowler says we\nare all to go and live near her. There is a cottage now empty that\nwill just suit us, with a garden and a henhouse, and apple-trees, and\neverything! and her coachman is going away in the spring, and then she\nwill want father in his place; and there are good families round, where\nyou can get a place in the garden or the stable, or as a page-boy;\nand there's a good school for me; and mother is laughing and crying by\nturns, and father does look so happy!\"\n\n\"That's uncommon jolly,\" said Harry, \"and just the right thing, I should\nsay; it will suit father and mother both; but I don't intend to be a\npage-boy with tight clothes and rows of buttons. I'll be a groom or a\ngardener.\"\n\nIt was quickly settled that as soon as Jerry was well enough they should\nremove to the country, and that the cab and horses should be sold as\nsoon as possible.\n\nThis was heavy news for me, for I was not young now, and could not look\nfor any improvement in my condition. Since I left Birtwick I had never\nbeen so happy as with my dear master Jerry; but three years of cab work,\neven under the best conditions, will tell on one's strength, and I felt\nthat I was not the horse that I had been.\n\nGrant said at once that he would take Hotspur, and there were men on the\nstand who would have bought me; but Jerry said I should not go to cab\nwork again with just anybody, and the governor promised to find a place\nfor me where I should be comfortable.\n\nThe day came for going away. Jerry had not been allowed to go out yet,\nand I never saw him after that New Year's eve. Polly and the children\ncame to bid me good-by. \"Poor old Jack! dear old Jack! I wish we could\ntake you with us,\" she said, and then laying her hand on my mane she put\nher face close to my neck and kissed me. Dolly was crying and kissed\nme too. Harry stroked me a great deal, but said nothing, only he seemed\nvery sad, and so I was led away to my new place.\n\n\n\n\nPart IV\n\n\n\n\n46 Jakes and the Lady\n\n\nI was sold to a corn dealer and baker, whom Jerry knew, and with him he\nthought I should have good food and fair work. In the first he was quite\nright, and if my master had always been on the premises I do not think\nI should have been overloaded, but there was a foreman who was always\nhurrying and driving every one, and frequently when I had quite a full\nload he would order something else to be taken on. My carter, whose name\nwas Jakes, often said it was more than I ought to take, but the other\nalways overruled him. \"'Twas no use going twice when once would do, and\nhe chose to get business forward.\"\n\nJakes, like the other carters, always had the check-rein up, which\nprevented me from drawing easily, and by the time I had been there three\nor four months I found the work telling very much on my strength.\n\nOne day I was loaded more than usual, and part of the road was a steep\nuphill. I used all my strength, but I could not get on, and was obliged\ncontinually to stop. This did not please my driver, and he laid his whip\non badly. \"Get on, you lazy fellow,\" he said, \"or I'll make you.\"\n\nAgain I started the heavy load, and struggled on a few yards; again the\nwhip came down, and again I struggled forward. The pain of that great\ncart whip was sharp, but my mind was hurt quite as much as my poor\nsides. To be punished and abused when I was doing my very best was\nso hard it took the heart out of me. A third time he was flogging me\ncruelly, when a lady stepped quickly up to him, and said in a sweet,\nearnest voice:\n\n\"Oh! pray do not whip your good horse any more; I am sure he is doing\nall he can, and the road is very steep; I am sure he is doing his best.\"\n\n\"If doing his best won't get this load up he must do something more than\nhis best; that's all I know, ma'am,\" said Jakes.\n\n\"But is it not a heavy load?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes, yes, too heavy,\" he said; \"but that's not my fault; the foreman\ncame just as we were starting, and would have three hundredweight more\nput on to save him trouble, and I must get on with it as well as I can.\"\n\nHe was raising the whip again, when the lady said:\n\n\"Pray, stop; I think I can help you if you will let me.\"\n\nThe man laughed.\n\n\"You see,\" she said, \"you do not give him a fair chance; he cannot use\nall his power with his head held back as it is with that check-rein; if\nyou would take it off I am sure he would do better--do try it,\" she said\npersuasively, \"I should be very glad if you would.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" said Jakes, with a short laugh, \"anything to please a\nlady, of course. How far would you wish it down, ma'am?\"\n\n\"Quite down, give him his head altogether.\"\n\nThe rein was taken off, and in a moment I put my head down to my very\nknees. What a comfort it was! Then I tossed it up and down several times\nto get the aching stiffness out of my neck.\n\n\"Poor fellow! that is what you wanted,\" said she, patting and stroking\nme with her gentle hand; \"and now if you will speak kindly to him and\nlead him on I believe he will be able to do better.\"\n\nJakes took the rein. \"Come on, Blackie.\" I put down my head, and threw\nmy whole weight against the collar; I spared no strength; the load\nmoved on, and I pulled it steadily up the hill, and then stopped to take\nbreath.\n\nThe lady had walked along the footpath, and now came across into the\nroad. She stroked and patted my neck, as I had not been patted for many\na long day.\n\n\"You see he was quite willing when you gave him the chance; I am sure he\nis a fine-tempered creature, and I dare say has known better days. You\nwon't put that rein on again, will you?\" for he was just going to hitch\nit up on the old plan.\n\n\"Well, ma'am, I can't deny that having his head has helped him up the\nhill, and I'll remember it another time, and thank you, ma'am; but if\nhe went without a check-rein I should be the laughing-stock of all the\ncarters; it is the fashion, you see.\"\n\n\"Is it not better,\" she said, \"to lead a good fashion than to follow a\nbad one? A great many gentlemen do not use check-reins now; our carriage\nhorses have not worn them for fifteen years, and work with much less\nfatigue than those who have them; besides,\" she added in a very serious\nvoice, \"we have no right to distress any of God's creatures without a\nvery good reason; we call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they\ncannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they\nhave no words. But I must not detain you now; I thank you for trying\nmy plan with your good horse, and I am sure you will find it far better\nthan the whip. Good-day,\" and with another soft pat on my neck she\nstepped lightly across the path, and I saw her no more.\n\n\"That was a real lady, I'll be bound for it,\" said Jakes to himself;\n\"she spoke just as polite as if I was a gentleman, and I'll try her\nplan, uphill, at any rate;\" and I must do him the justice to say that\nhe let my rein out several holes, and going uphill after that, he always\ngave me my head; but the heavy loads went on. Good feed and fair rest\nwill keep up one's strength under full work, but no horse can stand\nagainst overloading; and I was getting so thoroughly pulled down from\nthis cause that a younger horse was bought in my place. I may as well\nmention here what I suffered at this time from another cause. I had\nheard horses speak of it, but had never myself had experience of the\nevil; this was a badly-lighted stable; there was only one very small\nwindow at the end, and the consequence was that the stalls were almost\ndark.\n\nBesides the depressing effect this had on my spirits, it very much\nweakened my sight, and when I was suddenly brought out of the darkness\ninto the glare of daylight it was very painful to my eyes. Several times\nI stumbled over the threshold, and could scarcely see where I was going.\n\nI believe, had I stayed there very long, I should have become purblind,\nand that would have been a great misfortune, for I have heard men say\nthat a stone-blind horse was safer to drive than one which had imperfect\nsight, as it generally makes them very timid. However, I escaped without\nany permanent injury to my sight, and was sold to a large cab owner.\n\n\n\n\n47 Hard Times\n\n\nMy new master I shall never forget; he had black eyes and a hooked nose,\nhis mouth was as full of teeth as a bull-dog's, and his voice was as\nharsh as the grinding of cart wheels over graveled stones. His name was\nNicholas Skinner, and I believe he was the man that poor Seedy Sam drove\nfor.\n\nI have heard men say that seeing is believing; but I should say that\nfeeling is believing; for much as I had seen before, I never knew till\nnow the utter misery of a cab-horse's life.\n\nSkinner had a low set of cabs and a low set of drivers; he was hard on\nthe men, and the men were hard on the horses. In this place we had no\nSunday rest, and it was in the heat of summer.\n\nSometimes on a Sunday morning a party of fast men would hire the cab for\nthe day; four of them inside and another with the driver, and I had to\ntake them ten or fifteen miles out into the country, and back again;\nnever would any of them get down to walk up a hill, let it be ever\nso steep, or the day ever so hot--unless, indeed, when the driver was\nafraid I should not manage it, and sometimes I was so fevered and worn\nthat I could hardly touch my food. How I used to long for the nice bran\nmash with niter in it that Jerry used to give us on Saturday nights in\nhot weather, that used to cool us down and make us so comfortable.\nThen we had two nights and a whole day for unbroken rest, and on Monday\nmorning we were as fresh as young horses again; but here there was no\nrest, and my driver was just as hard as his master. He had a cruel whip\nwith something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood, and he\nwould even whip me under the belly, and flip the lash out at my head.\nIndignities like these took the heart out of me terribly, but still I\ndid my best and never hung back; for, as poor Ginger said, it was no\nuse; men are the strongest.\n\nMy life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger,\ndrop down dead at my work and be out of my misery, and one day my wish\nvery nearly came to pass.\n\nI went on the stand at eight in the morning, and had done a good share\nof work, when we had to take a fare to the railway. A long train was\njust expected in, so my driver pulled up at the back of some of the\noutside cabs to take the chance of a return fare. It was a very heavy\ntrain, and as all the cabs were soon engaged ours was called for. There\nwas a party of four; a noisy, blustering man with a lady, a little boy\nand a young girl, and a great deal of luggage. The lady and the boy got\ninto the cab, and while the man ordered about the luggage the young girl\ncame and looked at me.\n\n\"Papa,\" she said, \"I am sure this poor horse cannot take us and all our\nluggage so far, he is so very weak and worn up. Do look at him.\"\n\n\"Oh! he's all right, miss,\" said my driver, \"he's strong enough.\"\n\nThe porter, who was pulling about some heavy boxes, suggested to the\ngentleman, as there was so much luggage, whether he would not take a\nsecond cab.\n\n\"Can your horse do it, or can't he?\" said the blustering man.\n\n\"Oh! he can do it all right, sir; send up the boxes, porter; he could\ntake more than that;\" and he helped to haul up a box so heavy that I\ncould feel the springs go down.\n\n\"Papa, papa, do take a second cab,\" said the young girl in a beseeching\ntone. \"I am sure we are wrong, I am sure it is very cruel.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, Grace, get in at once, and don't make all this fuss; a pretty\nthing it would be if a man of business had to examine every cab-horse\nbefore he hired it--the man knows his own business of course; there, get\nin and hold your tongue!\"\n\nMy gentle friend had to obey, and box after box was dragged up and\nlodged on the top of the cab or settled by the side of the driver. At\nlast all was ready, and with his usual jerk at the rein and slash of the\nwhip he drove out of the station.\n\nThe load was very heavy and I had had neither food nor rest since\nmorning; but I did my best, as I always had done, in spite of cruelty\nand injustice.\n\nI got along fairly till we came to Ludgate Hill; but there the heavy\nload and my own exhaustion were too much. I was struggling to keep on,\ngoaded by constant chucks of the rein and use of the whip, when in a\nsingle moment--I cannot tell how--my feet slipped from under me, and I\nfell heavily to the ground on my side; the suddenness and the force\nwith which I fell seemed to beat all the breath out of my body. I lay\nperfectly still; indeed, I had no power to move, and I thought now I was\ngoing to die. I heard a sort of confusion round me, loud, angry voices,\nand the getting down of the luggage, but it was all like a dream. I\nthought I heard that sweet, pitiful voice saying, \"Oh! that poor horse!\nit is all our fault.\" Some one came and loosened the throat strap of\nmy bridle, and undid the traces which kept the collar so tight upon me.\nSome one said, \"He's dead, he'll never get up again.\" Then I could hear\na policeman giving orders, but I did not even open my eyes; I could only\ndraw a gasping breath now and then. Some cold water was thrown over\nmy head, and some cordial was poured into my mouth, and something was\ncovered over me. I cannot tell how long I lay there, but I found my life\ncoming back, and a kind-voiced man was patting me and encouraging me to\nrise. After some more cordial had been given me, and after one or two\nattempts, I staggered to my feet, and was gently led to some stables\nwhich were close by. Here I was put into a well-littered stall, and some\nwarm gruel was brought to me, which I drank thankfully.\n\nIn the evening I was sufficiently recovered to be led back to Skinner's\nstables, where I think they did the best for me they could. In the\nmorning Skinner came with a farrier to look at me. He examined me very\nclosely and said:\n\n\"This is a case of overwork more than disease, and if you could give him\na run off for six months he would be able to work again; but now there\nis not an ounce of strength left in him.\"\n\n\"Then he must just go to the dogs,\" said Skinner. \"I have no meadows to\nnurse sick horses in--he might get well or he might not; that sort of\nthing don't suit my business; my plan is to work 'em as long as they'll\ngo, and then sell 'em for what they'll fetch, at the knacker's or\nelsewhere.\"\n\n\"If he was broken-winded,\" said the farrier, \"you had better have him\nkilled out of hand, but he is not; there is a sale of horses coming off\nin about ten days; if you rest him and feed him up he may pick up, and\nyou may get more than his skin is worth, at any rate.\"\n\nUpon this advice Skinner, rather unwillingly, I think, gave orders that\nI should be well fed and cared for, and the stable man, happily for me,\ncarried out the orders with a much better will than his master had in\ngiving them. Ten days of perfect rest, plenty of good oats, hay,\nbran mashes, with boiled linseed mixed in them, did more to get up my\ncondition than anything else could have done; those linseed mashes were\ndelicious, and I began to think, after all, it might be better to live\nthan go to the dogs. When the twelfth day after the accident came, I\nwas taken to the sale, a few miles out of London. I felt that any change\nfrom my present place must be an improvement, so I held up my head, and\nhoped for the best.\n\n\n\n\n48 Farmer Thoroughgood and His Grandson Willie\n\n\nAt this sale, of course I found myself in company with the old\nbroken-down horses--some lame, some broken-winded, some old, and some\nthat I am sure it would have been merciful to shoot.\n\nThe buyers and sellers, too, many of them, looked not much better off\nthan the poor beasts they were bargaining about. There were poor old\nmen, trying to get a horse or a pony for a few pounds, that might drag\nabout some little wood or coal cart. There were poor men trying to sell\na worn-out beast for two or three pounds, rather than have the greater\nloss of killing him. Some of them looked as if poverty and hard times\nhad hardened them all over; but there were others that I would have\nwillingly used the last of my strength in serving; poor and shabby, but\nkind and human, with voices that I could trust. There was one tottering\nold man who took a great fancy to me, and I to him, but I was not strong\nenough--it was an anxious time! Coming from the better part of the fair,\nI noticed a man who looked like a gentleman farmer, with a young boy by\nhis side; he had a broad back and round shoulders, a kind, ruddy face,\nand he wore a broad-brimmed hat. When he came up to me and my companions\nhe stood still and gave a pitiful look round upon us. I saw his eye\nrest on me; I had still a good mane and tail, which did something for my\nappearance. I pricked my ears and looked at him.\n\n\"There's a horse, Willie, that has known better days.\"\n\n\"Poor old fellow!\" said the boy, \"do you think, grandpapa, he was ever a\ncarriage horse?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes! my boy,\" said the farmer, coming closer, \"he might have been\nanything when he was young; look at his nostrils and his ears, the shape\nof his neck and shoulder; there's a deal of breeding about that horse.\"\nHe put out his hand and gave me a kind pat on the neck. I put out my\nnose in answer to his kindness; the boy stroked my face.\n\n\"Poor old fellow! see, grandpapa, how well he understands kindness.\nCould not you buy him and make him young again as you did with\nLadybird?\"\n\n\"My dear boy, I can't make all old horses young; besides, Ladybird was\nnot so very old, as she was run down and badly used.\"\n\n\"Well, grandpapa, I don't believe that this one is old; look at his mane\nand tail. I wish you would look into his mouth, and then you could tell;\nthough he is so very thin, his eyes are not sunk like some old horses'.\"\n\nThe old gentleman laughed. \"Bless the boy! he is as horsey as his old\ngrandfather.\"\n\n\"But do look at his mouth, grandpapa, and ask the price; I am sure he\nwould grow young in our meadows.\"\n\nThe man who had brought me for sale now put in his word.\n\n\"The young gentleman's a real knowing one, sir. Now the fact is, this\n'ere hoss is just pulled down with overwork in the cabs; he's not an old\none, and I heerd as how the vetenary should say, that a six months' run\noff would set him right up, being as how his wind was not broken.\nI've had the tending of him these ten days past, and a gratefuller,\npleasanter animal I never met with, and 'twould be worth a gentleman's\nwhile to give a five-pound note for him, and let him have a chance. I'll\nbe bound he'd be worth twenty pounds next spring.\"\n\nThe old gentleman laughed, and the little boy looked up eagerly.\n\n\"Oh, grandpapa, did you not say the colt sold for five pounds more than\nyou expected? You would not be poorer if you did buy this one.\"\n\nThe farmer slowly felt my legs, which were much swelled and strained;\nthen he looked at my mouth. \"Thirteen or fourteen, I should say; just\ntrot him out, will you?\"\n\nI arched my poor thin neck, raised my tail a little, and threw out my\nlegs as well as I could, for they were very stiff.\n\n\"What is the lowest you will take for him?\" said the farmer as I came\nback.\n\n\"Five pounds, sir; that was the lowest price my master set.\"\n\n\"'Tis a speculation,\" said the old gentleman, shaking his head, but at\nthe same time slowly drawing out his purse, \"quite a speculation! Have\nyou any more business here?\" he said, counting the sovereigns into his\nhand.\n\n\"No, sir, I can take him for you to the inn, if you please.\"\n\n\"Do so, I am now going there.\"\n\nThey walked forward, and I was led behind. The boy could hardly control\nhis delight, and the old gentleman seemed to enjoy his pleasure. I had a\ngood feed at the inn, and was then gently ridden home by a servant of my\nnew master's, and turned into a large meadow with a shed in one corner\nof it.\n\nMr. Thoroughgood, for that was the name of my benefactor, gave orders\nthat I should have hay and oats every night and morning, and the run of\nthe meadow during the day, and, \"you, Willie,\" said he, \"must take the\noversight of him; I give him in charge to you.\"\n\nThe boy was proud of his charge, and undertook it in all seriousness.\nThere was not a day when he did not pay me a visit; sometimes picking\nme out from among the other horses, and giving me a bit of carrot, or\nsomething good, or sometimes standing by me while I ate my oats. He\nalways came with kind words and caresses, and of course I grew very fond\nof him. He called me Old Crony, as I used to come to him in the field\nand follow him about. Sometimes he brought his grandfather, who always\nlooked closely at my legs.\n\n\"This is our point, Willie,\" he would say; \"but he is improving so\nsteadily that I think we shall see a change for the better in the\nspring.\"\n\nThe perfect rest, the good food, the soft turf, and gentle exercise,\nsoon began to tell on my condition and my spirits. I had a good\nconstitution from my mother, and I was never strained when I was young,\nso that I had a better chance than many horses who have been worked\nbefore they came to their full strength. During the winter my legs\nimproved so much that I began to feel quite young again. The spring came\nround, and one day in March Mr. Thoroughgood determined that he would\ntry me in the phaeton. I was well pleased, and he and Willie drove me a\nfew miles. My legs were not stiff now, and I did the work with perfect\nease.\n\n\"He's growing young, Willie; we must give him a little gentle work now,\nand by mid-summer he will be as good as Ladybird. He has a beautiful\nmouth and good paces; they can't be better.\"\n\n\"Oh, grandpapa, how glad I am you bought him!\"\n\n\"So am I, my boy; but he has to thank you more than me; we must now\nbe looking out for a quiet, genteel place for him, where he will be\nvalued.\"\n\n\n\n\n49 My Last Home\n\n\nOne day during this summer the groom cleaned and dressed me with such\nextraordinary care that I thought some new change must be at hand; he\ntrimmed my fetlocks and legs, passed the tarbrush over my hoofs, and\neven parted my forelock. I think the harness had an extra polish. Willie\nseemed half-anxious, half-merry, as he got into the chaise with his\ngrandfather.\n\n\"If the ladies take to him,\" said the old gentleman, \"they'll be suited\nand he'll be suited. We can but try.\"\n\nAt the distance of a mile or two from the village we came to a pretty,\nlow house, with a lawn and shrubbery at the front and a drive up to the\ndoor. Willie rang the bell, and asked if Miss Blomefield or Miss Ellen\nwas at home. Yes, they were. So, while Willie stayed with me, Mr.\nThoroughgood went into the house. In about ten minutes he returned,\nfollowed by three ladies; one tall, pale lady, wrapped in a white shawl,\nleaned on a younger lady, with dark eyes and a merry face; the other,\na very stately-looking person, was Miss Blomefield. They all came\nand looked at me and asked questions. The younger lady--that was Miss\nEllen--took to me very much; she said she was sure she should like me, I\nhad such a good face. The tall, pale lady said that she should always\nbe nervous in riding behind a horse that had once been down, as I might\ncome down again, and if I did she should never get over the fright.\n\n\"You see, ladies,\" said Mr. Thoroughgood, \"many first-rate horses have\nhad their knees broken through the carelessness of their drivers without\nany fault of their own, and from what I see of this horse I should say\nthat is his case; but of course I do not wish to influence you. If you\nincline you can have him on trial, and then your coachman will see what\nhe thinks of him.\"\n\n\"You have always been such a good adviser to us about our horses,\" said\nthe stately lady, \"that your recommendation would go a long way with me,\nand if my sister Lavinia sees no objection we will accept your offer of\na trial, with thanks.\"\n\nIt was then arranged that I should be sent for the next day.\n\nIn the morning a smart-looking young man came for me. At first he looked\npleased; but when he saw my knees he said in a disappointed voice:\n\n\"I didn't think, sir, you would have recommended my ladies a blemished\nhorse like that.\"\n\n\"'Handsome is that handsome does',\" said my master; \"you are only taking\nhim on trial, and I am sure you will do fairly by him, young man. If he\nis not as safe as any horse you ever drove send him back.\"\n\nI was led to my new home, placed in a comfortable stable, fed, and left\nto myself. The next day, when the groom was cleaning my face, he said:\n\n\"That is just like the star that 'Black Beauty' had; he is much the same\nheight, too. I wonder where he is now.\"\n\nA little further on he came to the place in my neck where I was bled and\nwhere a little knot was left in the skin. He almost started, and began\nto look me over carefully, talking to himself.\n\n\"White star in the forehead, one white foot on the off side, this little\nknot just in that place;\" then looking at the middle of my back--\"and,\nas I am alive, there is that little patch of white hair that John used\nto call 'Beauty's three-penny bit'. It must be 'Black Beauty'! Why,\nBeauty! Beauty! do you know me?--little Joe Green, that almost killed\nyou?\" And he began patting and patting me as if he was quite overjoyed.\n\nI could not say that I remembered him, for now he was a fine grown young\nfellow, with black whiskers and a man's voice, but I was sure he knew\nme, and that he was Joe Green, and I was very glad. I put my nose up\nto him, and tried to say that we were friends. I never saw a man so\npleased.\n\n\"Give you a fair trial! I should think so indeed! I wonder who the\nrascal was that broke your knees, my old Beauty! you must have been\nbadly served out somewhere; well, well, it won't be my fault if you\nhaven't good times of it now. I wish John Manly was here to see you.\"\n\nIn the afternoon I was put into a low park chair and brought to the\ndoor. Miss Ellen was going to try me, and Green went with her. I soon\nfound that she was a good driver, and she seemed pleased with my paces.\nI heard Joe telling her about me, and that he was sure I was Squire\nGordon's old \"Black Beauty\".\n\nWhen we returned the other sisters came out to hear how I had behaved\nmyself. She told them what she had just heard, and said:\n\n\"I shall certainly write to Mrs. Gordon, and tell her that her favorite\nhorse has come to us. How pleased she will be!\"\n\nAfter this I was driven every day for a week or so, and as I appeared\nto be quite safe, Miss Lavinia at last ventured out in the small close\ncarriage. After this it was quite decided to keep me and call me by my\nold name of \"Black Beauty\".\n\nI have now lived in this happy place a whole year. Joe is the best and\nkindest of grooms. My work is easy and pleasant, and I feel my strength\nand spirits all coming back again. Mr. Thoroughgood said to Joe the\nother day:\n\n\"In your place he will last till he is twenty years old--perhaps more.\"\n\nWillie always speaks to me when he can, and treats me as his special\nfriend. My ladies have promised that I shall never be sold, and so I\nhave nothing to fear; and here my story ends. My troubles are all over,\nand I am at home; and often before I am quite awake, I fancy I am still\nin the orchard at Birtwick, standing with my old friends under the\napple-trees."