I was sent down to a place about two miles from Blackheath, on the Forest Hill side, and spent the days of my leisure in a field, sharing the welcome grass with half a dozen cows belonging to a local dairyman. It was almost as bad as being alone, having no other horse for a companion; for the cows, not very among themselves, did not care to a stranger who a language they did not understand.  
It was not like my early home, but it was a paradise compared to the I lived in down Lambeth way, and I would have been well content to have spent the rest of my days there; but I had a great amount of work left in my bones yet, and it was not to be.
 
When the month was up, Jim Harkaway came to fetch me. I am sorry to say that he was rather the worse for beer when he arrived, and before we got home he was in a horrible state of . We met Mr. Harkaway near home, and the way his son addressed him was very shocking; you would not 44hear it from any creature save man—the noblest in his best condition, in his fall the most degraded.
 
High words ensued between father and son, and several people stopped one after the other; but they all went on again, saying that it was ‘only old Harkaway and his precious son,’ so I concluded that these scenes between them were growing common. In the end Mr. Harkaway the away from his son, and led me up a turning opposite the shop. I was surprised at not going home, and still more surprised when he halted before a greengrocer’s shop, and Mr. Harkaway asked a woman if her husband was at home.
 
‘He’s round the yard,’ was the reply; ‘but he will be here in a minute.’
 
In less than a minute the husband came—a short, thick-set man, deeply pock-marked, and dressed in corduroy, with a red silk handkerchief round his throat.
 
‘Mornin’, Mr. Harkaway,’ he said.
 
‘Morning,’ replied my master. ‘I have brought Blossom to you myself. Jim is going on worse than ever.’
 
‘Sorry to hear it,’ said the other. ‘But you ain’t half sharp enough with him. If he was a son of mine, I would give him the key of the street, as sure as my name is Benjamin Bunter.’
 
‘Mrs. Harkaway clings to him,’ said Mr. Harkaway ; ‘she is a woman, and he is an only son; but it is a great trial—the money he wastes is enough to break one’s heart.’
 
Not a word about the of the youth—it was still pounds, shillings, and pence to the furniture .
 
“Well, what are we to say for Blossom?’ said the greengrocer, stroking my fore-leg with his hand.
 
‘He is worth thirty,’ replied Mr. Harkaway. ‘I am only selling him because I was obliged to buy two horses to carry on my business while he was away. He is worth thirty pounds.’
 
‘You mean twenty,’ said Benjamin Bunter shortly.
 
‘No—thirty, I mean.’
 
‘Twenty.’
 
In this style they for awhile, and the bargain ended 45in the usual way; I became the property of Benjamin Bunter, greengrocer, for the sum of twenty-five pounds .
 
In this manner I parted from the furniture dealer, and we never met again; but I learnt his fate in a casual way, and I may as well give it here. He was killed in a railway accident on his way back from a country sale, and having died without a will (he had put it off a hundred times on the ground of the expense), the better part of his property fell into the hands of his son, who his worldly training by the money like dirt, and dying, while yet in his youth, mad with drink. What became of the mother I never knew.
 
Let me turn to my new master, Benjamin Bunter, and endeavour to describe him to my reading friends as I afterwards knew him. This master of mine was what is known as a ‘free living man’—he made a deal of money in his business, and spent it almost as soon as he got it. He was very fond of eating and drinking, and delighted in such pleasure as could be found on race-courses, at pigeon matches, and so on. His wife had similar tastes, and they jogged on very well together; and the half-dozen children they had brought into the world were, as far as food and clothing went, well cared for, but all else was neglected.
 
Let me speak of the man as I found him. Benjamin Bunter had a kind heart, and he fed me liberally; but he was a thoughtless man, and many a time he has, without the slightest regard for my good or ill, kept me all day without food at a pigeon match, and then taken up half a dozen men with him for ‘a lift’ home. He would also drive his wife and children to Epping for a day’s outing, and the I have felt after the efforts required on such occasions was very great.
 
With regard to the pigeon-shooting I wish to say, without going into the subject, that I think it a very cruel and unmanly sport. The contest is not equal in any way. What can be more cowardly than to box up a poor helpless thing for awhile, then pretend to give it liberty and shoot it as soon as it shows its head? Call that ‘sport’—I wonder men are not ashamed of it!
 
I was employed in the business mostly, and very often I was in 46the Market as early as four o’clock, and there I met with many horses and engaged in the same trade; some were well cared for and fed liberally, but others had cruel or indifferent masters. Some of the men were given to bad language, and used the most fearful oaths whenever their animals did even the slightest thing wrong. Generally the fault lay with the masters, who perhaps had a little difficulty in fixing their carts among the rest, and instead of going quietly and easily to work, out came the whip, and the horse’s head was wrenched about, until he was quite bewildered. Who can wonder if the poor creature backed into the wrong place, or showed a tendency to go opposite to the direction required? Man talks a deal about reason, but he too often forgets to act upon it, especially when he is with such poor creatures as myself.
 
The scenes in the market were very exciting and amusing as a rule, but many of them were painful. language was sometimes followed by a fight, which gave amusement to a thoughtless crowd, until the police appeared. Whenever such a scene took place I noticed that the fighting men were invariably the worse for drink; the sober buyers, sellers, and labourers always did their work quickly and went away quietly.
 
I am now coming to an episode in my life which requires an entire chapter to itself, for it opened up to me a new train of thought with regard to the connection between horse and man, and the really important influence they have upon each other. One night, late in the month of May, Benjamin Bunter came into my stable and gave me an extra , combing my coat and plaiting my mane with wonderful care. While he was at work Mrs. Bunter entered with a large covered with flowers in her hand. Mrs. Bunter, by the way, had a great love for bright colours, and was generally a walking object of envy to her less fortunate neighbours.
 
‘There, Ben,’ she said, holding it up, ‘I think that will do.’
 
‘It’s prime,’ was his reply. ‘There won’t be many like that upon the course. Everybody will know as we drive along that we are going to the races. Come over, Blossom—steady there.’
 
So I was going to the races. Here was a of something new to me, and I immediately thought of Rip’s great-grandfather, who had nearly won something or other many years ago; and then I wondered what that something was, and in what way it was contested; and then I wondered what had become of Rip, and I continued wondering long after Benjamin Bunter had finished work and to his supper in the little parlour behind his well-stocked shop.
 
Sleep was almost a stranger to my eyes that night. by excitement, I continued to think and wonder until the first grey light of the morning came stealing through the window of my stable, and then I fell into a fitful , to dream that I was a race-horse of the purest blood, famous for my victories throughout the length and breadth of the land.