“Good-bye, again,” he said; “we shall not forget any of you,” and he got in.  “Drive on, John.”  Joe jumped up and we trotted slowly through the park and through the village, where the people were standing at their doors to have a last look and to say, “God bless them.”

When we reached the railway station, I think mistress walked from the carriage to the waiting-room.  I heard her say in her own sweet voice, “Good-bye, John; God bless you.”  I felt the rein twitch, but John made no answer; perhaps he could not speak.  As soon as Joe had taken the things out of the carriage, John called him to stand by the horses, while he went on the platform.  Poor Joe!  He stood close up to our heads to hide his tears.  Very soon the train came puffing into the station; then two or three minutes, and the doors were slammed to; the guard whistled and the train glided away, leaving behind it only clouds of white smoke and some very heavy hearts.

When it was quite out of sight, John came back.  “We shall never see her again,” he said—­“never.”  He took the reins, mounted the box, and with Joe drove slowly home; but it was not our home now.

CHAPTER IX

EARLSHALL

The next morning after breakfast, Joe put Merrylegs into the mistress’ low chaise to take him to the vicarage; he came first and said good-bye to us, and Merrylegs neighed to us from the yard.  Then John put the saddle on Ginger and the leading rein on me, and rode us across the country to Earlshall Park, where the Earl of W——­ lived.  There was a very fine house and a great deal of stabling.  We went into the yard through a stone gateway, and John asked for Mr. York.  It was some time before he came.  He was a fine-looking, middle-aged man, and his voice said at once that he expected to be obeyed.  He was very friendly and polite to John, and after giving us a slight look, he called a groom to take us to our boxes, and invited John to take some refreshment.

We were taken to a light, airy stable, and placed in boxes adjoining each other, where we were rubbed down and fed.  In about half an hour John and York, who was to be our new coachman, came in to see us.

“Now, Manly,” he said, after carefully looking at us both, “I can see no fault in these horses; but we all know that horses have their peculiarities as well as men, and that sometimes they need different treatment.  I should like to know if there is anything particular in either of these that you would like to mention.”

“Well,” said John, “I don’t believe there is a better pair of horses in the country, and right grieved I am to part with them, but they are not alike.  The black one is the most perfect temper I ever knew; I suppose he has never known a hard word or blow since he was foaled, and all his pleasure seems to be to do what you wish; but the chestnut, I fancy, must have had bad treatment; we heard as