“No,” said Jack, a little ashamed of having listened. “I think you walk beautifully; your steps are so regular.”
“She’s machine-made,” observed the old horse, in a melancholy voice, and with a deep sigh. “In the largest magnifying-glass you’ll hardly find the least fault with her chain. She’s not like the goods they turn out in Clerkenwell.”
Jack was more and more startled, and so glad to get his cap and run after the groom and Dow to find Lady Betty, that he might be with ordinary human beings again; but when he got up to them, he found that Lady Betty was a beautiful brown mare! She was lying in a languid and rather affected attitude, with a load of fresh hay before her, and two attendants, one of whom stood holding a parasol over her head, and the other was fanning her.
“I’m so glad you are come, my good Dow,” said the brown mare. “Don’t you think I am strong enough to-day to set off for the happy meadows?”
“Well,” said Dow, “I’m afraid not yet; you must remember that it is of no use your leaving us till you have quite got over the effects of the fall.”
Just then Lady Betty observed Jack, and said, “Take that boy away; he reminds me of a jockey.”
The attentive groom instantly started forward, but Jack was too nimble for him; he ran and ran with all his might, and only wished he had never left the boat. But still he heard the groom behind him; and in fact the groom caught him at last, and held him so fast that struggling was of no use at all.
“You young rascal!” he exclaimed, as he recovered breath. “How you do run! It’s enough to break your mainspring.”
“What harm did I do?” asked Jack. “I was only looking at the mare.”
“Harm!” exclaimed the groom; “harm, indeed! Why, you reminded her of a jockey. It’s enough to hold her back, poor thing!—and we trying so hard, too, to make her forget what a cruel end she came to in the old world.”