“Yes, yes, of course he has,” one of the women broke in; “but he has come here to get all right again. This is a very wholesome country for horses; isn’t it, Boney?”
“Yes,” said the horse.
“Well, then, jog on, there’s a dear,” continued the old woman. “Why, you will be young again soon, you know—young, and gamesome, and handsome; you’ll be quite a colt by and by, and then we shall set you free to join your companions in the happy meadows.”
The old horse was so comforted by this kind speech, that he pricked up his ears and quickened his pace considerably.
“He was shamefully used,” observed one washerwoman. “Look at him, how lean he is! You can see all his ribs.”
“Yes,” said the other, as if apologising for the poor old horse. “He gets low-spirited when he thinks of all he has gone through; but he is a vast deal better already than he was. He used to live in London; his master always carried a long whip to beat him with, and never spoke civilly to him.”
“London!” exclaimed Jack; “why that is in my country. How did the horse get here?”
“That’s no business of yours,” answered one of the women. “But I can tell you he came because he was wanted, which is more than you are.”
“You let him alone,” said the horse in a querulous tone. “I don’t bear any malice.”
“No; he has a good disposition has Boney,” observed the red old woman. “Pray, are you a boy?”