It was early in May. A man from Squire Gorson's took me away to the hall. My master said,
"good-bye, Darkie. Be a good horse, and always do your best." I could not say "good-bye",
so I put my nose into his hand. He patted me kindly and I left my first home.
Squire Gordon's park was by the village of Britwice. There was room for many horses and
carriages. The stable into which I was taken was very big, with four good separate spaces
. A large swinging window opened into the yard, which made it fresh and pleasant.
The first space was a large square one, shut in behind with a wooden gate. The others
were common spaces-good, but not nearly so large. My space was called a loose box. It was
clean, sweet and airy. The horse that was put into it was not tied up. Instead, he was
left loose to do as he liked. The sides of the box were not very high, and so the horse
could see all that went on through the iron bars at the top.
I never was in a better box than that.
The groom gave me some very nice oats. He patted me, spoke kindly, and then went away.
When I had eaten my corn, I looked around. In the space next to mine stood a little fat,
gray pony. He had thick hair on his head and a big tail. His head was pretty and his nose
was small.
I put my head up to the iron bars at the top of my box, and said,"How do you do? What is
your name?"
He turned round as far as the rope around his head would allow, held up his head, and said
:"My name is Merrylegs. Are you going to live next door to me in the box?"
I said:"Yes."
"Well, then," he said,"I hope you are a patient horse. I do not like any one next foor
who bites."
Just then a horse's head looked over from the space beyond. Her ears were laid back, and
her eyes showed anger. This was a tall, red-brown female horse, with a long handsome
neck. She looked across to me and said,"So it is you who have turned me out of my box.
It is a very strange thing for a young male horse like you to come and turn a lady out of
her own home."
"What?" I said,"I have truned no one out. The man who brought me put me here, and I had
nothing to do with it. And I am not a young horse. I have turned four years old and I am
a grown-up horse. I never had a quarrel yet with any horse, and it is my wish to live in
peace."
"Well," she said,"we'll see. Of course, I do not want to quarrel with a young thing like
you."
I said no more.
When she went out in the afternoon, Merrylegs said,"Ginger has a bad habit of biting and
losing contarol. One day she bit James in the arm and he bled. Miss Flora and Miss
Jessie, who are very fond of me, were afraid to come into the stable. I wanted to see
them very much. I hope they will now come again, if you do not bite or lose control."
I told him I never bit anything but grass and corn, and could not think waht pleasure
Ginger found in biting.
"Well, I don't think she enjoys it," says Merrylegs,"it is just a bad habit. She said
that no one was ever kind to her, and why should she not bite? Of course, it is
a very bad habit, But I am sure, if all she says is true, she must have been treated
very badly before she came here. John does all he can to please her, and James
also. Our master never hits a horse if he or she acts right."
"You see," he went on, with a wise look,"I am twelve years old and I know a great
deal. I can tell you there is not a better place for a horse all around the country
than this. Jone has been here for fourteen years and taken best care of us. And you
never saw such a kind boy as James. It is all Ginger's own fault that she did not
stay in that box."