like an old friend, and so indeed he was. Then we heard what had been
arranged for us. Master had sold Ginger and me to an old friend.
Merrylegs he had given to the vicar, who was wanting a pony for Mrs.
Blomefield, but it was on the condition that he should never be sold,
and that when he was past work he should be shot and buried. Joe was
engaged to take care of him and to help in the house, so I thought that
Merrylegs was well off.

[Illustration]

"Have you decided what to do, John?" he said.

"No, sir; I have made up my mind that if I could get a situation with
some first-rate colt-breaker and horse-trainer, it would be the right
thing for me. Many young animals are frightened and spoiled by wrong
treatment, which need not be if the right man took them in hand. I
always get on well with horses, and if I could help some of them to a
fair start I should feel as if I was doing some good. What do you think
of it, sir?"

"I don't know a man anywhere," said master, "that I should think so
suitable for it as yourself. You understand horses, and somehow they
understand you, and I think you could not do better."

The last sad day had come; the footman and the heavy luggage had gone
off the day before, and there were only master and mistress, and her
maid. Ginger and I brought the carriage up to the Hall door, for the
last time. The servants brought out cushions and rugs, and when all were
arranged, master came down the steps carrying the mistress in his arms
(I was on the side next the house, and could see all that went on); he