A horse fair is an amusing place, I suppose, for those who have nothing to lose. There were young horses fresh from the country, shaggy little ponies, hundreds of cart horses, and many horses like me, handsome and well bred, who had come down in the world through an accident or some fault. At the back stood the poor old ones, broken down by hard work, so thin that you could see their ribs. These were sad sights for a horse who did not know if he might come to the same state himself.
There was a great deal of bargaining, and I think more lies were told at that fair than a clever man could count. The gentlemen always turned away when they saw my scarred knees, though the man who was selling me swore it was only a slip in the stall. Every buyer looked in my mouth and felt down my legs. Some did it roughly, as if I were a piece of wood; others gently, with a pat now and then. Of course, I judged the buyers by the way they treated me.
There was one man who, I thought, would make me happy if he bought me. He was rather small, but quick in all his movements, and I knew at once from his hands that he was used to horses. He spoke gently, and his grey eye had a kind, cheerful look. I liked his smell too: no old beer or tobacco, which I hated, but a clean, fresh smell, as if he had just come out of a hayloft.
He offered twenty-three pounds for me, but the seller refused, and he walked away. Then a hard-faced man with a loud voice offered the same, and I was terribly afraid he would have me. The seller was beginning to give in when the grey-eyed man came back. I could not help reaching out my head towards him, and he stroked my face.
“Well, old chap,” he said, “I think we should suit each other. I’ll give twenty-four pounds for him.”
“Say twenty-five and he’s yours.”
“Twenty-four pounds ten shillings,” said my friend firmly, “and not a penny more. Yes or no?”
“Done,” said the seller. “If you want him for cab work, he’s a bargain.”
My new master gave me a good feed of oats, saddled me and rode me to London. It was getting dark when we came into the city, and there were streets to the right and streets to the left, mile after mile. At last we turned into a narrow street with poor little houses on one side and stables on the other. My master stopped at a door and whistled. The door flew open, and a young woman ran out, with a little girl and a boy behind her.
“Now then, Harry, my boy, open the gates, and Mother will bring us the lantern.”
The next minute they were all standing round me in a small stable yard.
“Is he gentle, Father?”
“Yes, Dolly, as gentle as your own kitten. Come and pat him.”
At once a little hand was patting my shoulder without any fear. How good it felt!
“Let me get him a bran mash while you rub him down,” said the mother.
“Do, Polly. It’s just what he wants.”
I was led into a clean stall with plenty of dry straw, and after a good supper I lay down, thinking I was going to be happy.