The next morning Joe took Merrylegs to the vicarage, and John rode Ginger and led me about fifteen miles across the country to Earlshall Park, where the Earl lived. There John asked for Mr York, the coachman, a fine-looking man whose voice told you at once that he expected to be obeyed.
“The black one has the best temper I ever knew,” John told him. “The chestnut was badly treated before she came to us. With us she is good and willing, but if she were treated unfairly, she might fight back. And we have never used the bearing rein with either of them.”
“Well,” said York, “if they come here, they must wear it. I like a loose rein myself, and so does his lordship. But my lady — that’s another thing. She wants style, and if her horses’ heads aren’t held up tight, she won’t look at them.”
“I am sorry for it, very sorry,” said John. “But I must go now, or I shall miss my train.”
He came round to pat us and speak to us for the last time, and his voice sounded very sad. I held my face close to him; that was all I could do to say goodbye. Then he was gone, and I have never seen him since.
The next afternoon we were put to the carriage. The house was three or four times as large as the one at Birtwick, but not half so pleasant, if a horse may have an opinion. My lady, a tall, proud-looking woman, came down the stone steps, looked at us and got into the carriage without a word. It was my first time in a bearing rein, but it did not yet hold my head higher than I usually carried it.
The next day the lady said, “York, you must put those horses’ heads higher. They are not fit to be seen.”
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” said York politely, “but these horses have not worn the rein for three years, and my lord said it would be safer to bring them to it slowly.”
“Take them up a little more,” she said.
York shortened our bearing reins by one hole. Every little makes a difference, and that day we had a steep hill to climb. Then I began to understand what Ginger had told me. I wanted to put my head forward and pull the carriage up with a will, as we always had, but I had to pull with my head held up. That took all the spirit out of me, and the strain went into my back and legs.
“Now you see what it is like,” said Ginger when we came home. “If it gets no worse, I shall say nothing, because they treat us well here. But if they pull my head up tight — well, let them look out! I can’t bear it, and I won’t.”
Day by day, hole by hole, our bearing reins were shortened, and I began to dread having my harness put on. At last there were several days with no more shortening, and I thought the worst was over. But the worst had not yet come.