yourself it's bad enough when you have a kind master and plenty of
coaxing, but there was nothing of that sort for me.

"There was one--the old master, Mr. Ryder--who, I think, could soon have
brought me round, and could have done anything with me; but he had given
up all the hard part of the trade to his son and to another experienced
man, and he only came at times to oversee. His son was a strong, tall,
bold man; they called him Samson, and he used to boast that he had never
found a horse that could throw him. There was no gentleness in him, as
there was in his father, but only hardness, a hard voice, a hard eye, a
hard hand; and I felt from the first that what he wanted was to wear all
the spirit out of me, and just make me into a quiet, humble, obedient
piece of horseflesh. 'Horseflesh'! Yes, that is all that he thought
about," and Ginger stamped her foot as if the very thought of him made
her angry. Then she went on:

"If I did not do exactly what he wanted he would get put out, and make
me run round with that long rein in the training field till he had
tired me out. I think he drank a good deal, and I am quite sure that the
oftener he drank the worse it was for me. One day he had worked me hard
in every way he could, and when I lay down I was tired, and miserable,
and angry; it all seemed so hard. The next morning he came for me early,
and ran me round again for a long time. I had scarcely had an hour's
rest, when he came again for me with a saddle and bridle and a new kind
of bit. I could never quite tell how it came about; he had only just
mounted me on the training ground, when something I did put him out
of temper, and he chucked me hard with the rein. The new bit was very
painful, and I reared up suddenly, which angered him still more, and he
began to flog me. I felt my whole spirit set against him, and I began
to kick, and plunge, and rear as I had never done before, and we had a