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- Анна Сьюэлл
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- Стр. 82/106
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“
And
so
at
last
,
”
said
she
,
“
I
was
bought
by
a
man
who
keeps
a
number
of
cabs
and
horses
,
and
lets
them
out
.
You
look
well
off
,
and
I
am
glad
of
it
,
but
I
could
not
tell
you
what
my
life
has
been
.
When
they
found
out
my
weakness
they
said
I
was
not
worth
what
they
gave
for
me
,
and
that
I
must
go
into
one
of
the
low
cabs
,
and
just
be
used
up
;
that
is
what
they
are
doing
,
whipping
and
working
with
never
one
thought
of
what
I
suffer
—
they
paid
for
me
,
and
must
get
it
out
of
me
,
they
say
.
The
man
who
hires
me
now
pays
a
deal
of
money
to
the
owner
every
day
,
and
so
he
has
to
get
it
out
of
me
too
;
and
so
it
’
s
all
the
week
round
and
round
,
with
never
a
Sunday
rest
.
”
I
said
,
“
You
used
to
stand
up
for
yourself
if
you
were
ill
-
used
.
”
“
Ah
!
”
she
said
,
“
I
did
once
,
but
it
’
s
no
use
;
men
are
strongest
,
and
if
they
are
cruel
and
have
no
feeling
,
there
is
nothing
that
we
can
do
,
but
just
bear
it
—
bear
it
on
and
on
to
the
end
.
I
wish
the
end
was
come
,
I
wish
I
was
dead
.
I
have
seen
dead
horses
,
and
I
am
sure
they
do
not
suffer
pain
;
I
wish
I
may
drop
down
dead
at
my
work
,
and
not
be
sent
off
to
the
knackers
.
”
I
was
very
much
troubled
,
and
I
put
my
nose
up
to
hers
,
but
I
could
say
nothing
to
comfort
her
.
I
think
she
was
pleased
to
see
me
,
for
she
said
,
“
You
are
the
only
friend
I
ever
had
.
”
Just
then
her
driver
came
up
,
and
with
a
tug
at
her
mouth
backed
her
out
of
the
line
and
drove
off
,
leaving
me
very
sad
indeed
.
A
short
time
after
this
a
cart
with
a
dead
horse
in
it
passed
our
cab
-
stand
The
head
hung
out
of
the
cart
-
tail
,
the
lifeless
tongue
was
slowly
dropping
with
blood
;
and
the
sunken
eyes
!
but
I
can
’
t
speak
of
them
,
the
sight
was
too
dreadful
.
It
was
a
chestnut
horse
with
a
long
,
thin
neck
.
I
saw
a
white
streak
down
the
forehead
.
I
believe
it
was
Ginger
;
I
hoped
it
was
,
for
then
her
troubles
would
be
over
.
Oh
!
if
men
were
more
merciful
they
would
shoot
us
before
we
came
to
such
misery
.
I
saw
a
great
deal
of
trouble
among
the
horses
in
London
,
and
much
of
it
might
have
been
prevented
by
a
little
common
sense
.
We
horses
do
not
mind
hard
work
if
we
are
treated
reasonably
,
and
I
am
sure
there
are
many
driven
by
quite
poor
men
who
have
a
happier
life
than
I
had
when
I
used
to
go
in
the
Countess
of
W
—
—
’
s
carriage
,
with
my
silver
-
mounted
harness
and
high
feeding
.
It
often
went
to
my
heart
to
see
how
the
little
ponies
were
used
,
straining
along
with
heavy
loads
or
staggering
under
heavy
blows
from
some
low
,
cruel
boy
.
Once
I
saw
a
little
gray
pony
with
a
thick
mane
and
a
pretty
head
,
and
so
much
like
Merrylegs
that
if
I
had
not
been
in
harness
I
should
have
neighed
to
him
.
He
was
doing
his
best
to
pull
a
heavy
cart
,
while
a
strong
rough
boy
was
cutting
him
under
the
belly
with
his
whip
and
chucking
cruelly
at
his
little
mouth
.
Could
it
be
Merrylegs
?
It
was
just
like
him
;
but
then
Mr
.
Blomefield
was
never
to
sell
him
,
and
I
think
he
would
not
do
it
;
but
this
might
have
been
quite
as
good
a
little
fellow
,
and
had
as
happy
a
place
when
he
was
young
.
I
often
noticed
the
great
speed
at
which
butchers
’
horses
were
made
to
go
,
though
I
did
not
know
why
it
was
so
till
one
day
when
we
had
to
wait
some
time
in
St
.
John
’
s
Wood
.
There
was
a
butcher
’
s
shop
next
door
,
and
as
we
were
standing
a
butcher
’
s
cart
came
dashing
up
at
a
great
pace
.
The
horse
was
hot
and
much
exhausted
;
he
hung
his
head
down
,
while
his
heaving
sides
and
trembling
legs
showed
how
hard
he
had
been
driven
.
The
lad
jumped
out
of
the
cart
and
was
getting
the
basket
when
the
master
came
out
of
the
shop
much
displeased
.
