not speak. As soon as Joe had taken the things
out of the carriage John called him to stand by the horses, while he
went on the platform. Poor Joe! he stood close up to our heads to hide
his tears. Very soon the train came puffing up into the station; then
two or three minutes, and the doors were slammed to, the guard whistled,
and the train glided away, leaving behind it only clouds of white smoke
and some very heavy hearts.

When it was quite out of sight John came back.

"We shall never see her again," he said--"never." He took the reins,
mounted the box, and with Joe drove slowly home; but it was not our home
now.

Part II

22 Earlshall

The next morning after breakfast Joe put Merrylegs into the mistress'
low chaise to take him to the vicarage; he came first and said good-by
to us, and Merrylegs neighed to us from the yard. Then John put the
saddle on Ginger and the leading rein on me, and rode us across the
country about fifteen miles to Earlshall Park, where the Earl of W----
lived. There was a very fine house and a great deal of stabling. We went
into the yard through a stone gateway, and John asked for Mr. York. It
was some time before he came. He was a fine-looking, middle-aged man,
and his voice said at once that he expected to be obeyed. He was very
friendly and polite to John, and after giving us a slight look he
called a groom to take us to our boxes, and invited John to take some
refreshment.

We were taken to a light, airy stable, and placed in boxes adjoining
each other, where we were rubbed down and fed. In about half an hour
John and Mr. York, who was to be our new coachman, came in to see us.

"Now, Mr. Manly," he said, after carefully looking at us both, "I can
see no fault in these horses; but we all know that horses have their
peculiarities as well as men, and that sometimes they need different
treatment. I should like to know if there is anything particular in
either of these that you would like to mention."

"Well," said John, "I don't believe there is a better pair of horses in
the country, and right grieved I am to part with them, but they are not
alike. The black one is the most perfect temper I ever knew; I suppose
he has never known a hard word or a blow since he was foaled, and all
his pleasure seems to be to do what you wish; but the chestnut, I fancy,
must have had bad treatment; we heard as much from the dealer. She came
to us snappish and suspicious, but when s