CHAPTER THREE

I Am Sold

It wasn't long at all before I was sold to a wealthy man named Squire Gordon. He was the father of the young man who had died during that terrible rabbit hunt. He lived in a large house on a large piece of land, which he called Birtwick Park.

It was hard to say good-bye to my mother and to Farmer Grey, but I understood that the time had come for me to go. I rubbed my nose against my mother's and was then led away by my new master. When I arrived at my new home, I was taken to the stables and placed in a very nice stall. Each stall held only one horse, and, from what I could see, mine seemed to be one of the best. It was clean and there was fresh hay for me to lie on, along with a bag of oats for me to enjoy. My stall was what they called a "loose stall", where horses weren't tied to anything, but were left free to move around inside.

After finishing my oats, I had a look around. The stall next to mine wasn't a loose stall. Inside, was a fat, but lovely grey-colored horse. I tried making friends with him by saying hello and asking his name.

The horse couldn't turn around to see me very easily because he was tied, but he did his best and replied, "My name's Merrylegs. I'm quite popular with the young women, I'll have you know. They like me so much that I'm never asked to carry the men any more."

Then after a moment of looking me up and down, he asked me, "So they've given you the loose stall?"

"It seems that they have." I answered.

"You'd better be a gentle and friendly horse. I don't want you hurting me or ... "

Then a loud angry voice interrupted Merrylegs, saying, "This is terrible! What horrible times these are when a comfortable stall can be taken from an older horse and given to a younger one who needs it much less!" I saw that it was a large brown female horse with very angry eyes.

"Now there's no need for you to yell at me, lady," I answered. "I didn't choose this stall, myself; I was put in here by our master. And I'm not as young as I look. I'm older than 4 years!"

The brown horse with the angry eyes didn't say another word, but simply turned away. Moments later, a worker came in and took her out for exercise. Seeing her gone, Merrylegs took the opportunity to speak.

"Don't worry about Ginger. She's always like that. She's not very friendly, even to people, so no one wants to ride her anymore. She even bit the stable boy just recently!"

"She bites? Why would she do that?"

"I have no idea, because we are treated very well here by the workers. They do their best to keep us healthy and happy, but Ginger never seems satisfied. It's because of her bad behavior that she lost her loose stall. So don't let her make you feel bad for having it now."

The highest worker in Birtwick Park was a fellow named John Manley. He came in early the next morning and led me to the yard for a good grooming and cleaning. After he'd finished, the squire walked by and asked John to take me for a ride around the Park so that I might become familiar with it and get some exercise.

While we rode, I kept my mother's advice in mind, and did my best to impress him with my obedience and skill. I was happy when we reached the woods and he gave me a gentle touch with the whip to tell me to start running. He seemed quite pleased with my performance.

When we returned to the stables, the squire was there waiting.

"Well, John, what do you think?"

"He's great, sir. He's very fast and loud noises don't seem to frighten him. We passed some hunters shooting at rabbits and he didn't even seem to notice." "OK, I think I'll take him out for a ride, myself. Thanks, John."

Again, I did my best to make the squire happy, and when we returned and found Mrs Gordon waiting at the stables, the squire said to her with a smile, "This is one of the nicest horses I've seen. Let's think of a good name for him."

"I think he looks like an 'Ebony' or a 'Blackbird'," said Mrs Gordon.

"No, I think he deserves a better name. His coat is so black and beautiful, I ... "

"Why don't we call him 'Black Beauty' then?" suggested Mrs Gordon.

And that's where my name came from.

Later on, James, the stable boy who worked with John Manley, said, "I thought they'd call him Rob Roy, because they look so much alike."

"They should look alike," John replied, "They are both sons of Farmer Grey's horse, Duchess."

This was very sad news for me. I could now understand why my mother had become so upset after the hunting accident. It was her own son she'd seen killed there in the field.

(end of section)