Black Beauty (Illustrated Edition). Anna Sewell

tion>

      Black Beauty

      The Autobiography of a Horse

      by Anna Sewell

      Illustrated by Sabrina Kelsey

      

       To my dear and honored Mother, whose life, no less than her pen, has been devoted to the welfare of others, this little book is affectionately dedicated.

      ©2014 Illustrated Books

      Cover Image © Can Stock Photo Inc. / brux

      Interior Images © Sabrina Kelsey

      All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except for brief quotations for review purposes only.

      Illustrated Books

      PO Box 631

      Floyd VA 24091-0631

      ISBN 13: 978-1-63384-283-0

      First Edition

      10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

      Table of Contents

       Part I

       My Early Home

       The Hunt

       My Breaking In

       Birtwick Park

       A Fair Start

       Liberty

       Ginger

       Ginger's Story Continued

       Merrylegs

       A Talk in the Orchard

       Plain Speaking

       A Stormy Day

       The Devil's Trade Mark

       James Howard

       The Old Hostler

       The Fire

       John Manly's Talk

       Going for the Doctor

       Only Ignorance

       Joe Green

       The Parting

       Part II

       Earlshall

       A Strike for Liberty

       The Lady Anne, or a Runaway Horse

       Reuben Smith

       How it Ended

       Ruined and Going Downhill

       A Job Horse and His Drivers

       Cockneys

       A Thief

       A Humbug

       Part III

       A Horse Fair

       A London Cab Horse

       An Old War Horse

       Jerry Barker

       The Sunday Cab

       The Golden Rule

       Dolly and a Real Gentleman

       Seedy Sam

       Poor Ginger

       The Butcher

       The Election

       A Friend in Need

       Old Captain and His Successor

       Jerry's New Year

       Part IV

       Jakes and the Lady

       Hard Times

       Farmer Thoroughgood and His Grandson Willie

       My Last Home

      Part I

      My Early Home

       The first place that I can well remember was a large pleasant meadow with a pond of clear water in it. Some shady trees leaned over it, and rushes and water-lilies grew at the deep end. Over the hedge on one side we looked into a plowed field, and on the other we looked over a gate at our master’s house, which stood by the roadside; at the top of the meadow was a grove of fir trees, and at the bottom a running brook overhung by a steep bank.

       While I was young I lived upon my mother’s milk, as I could not eat grass. In the daytime I ran by her side, and at night I lay down close by her. When it was hot we used to stand by the pond in the shade of the trees, and when it was cold we had a nice warm shed near the grove.

       As soon as I was old enough to eat grass my mother used to go out to work in the daytime, and come back in the evening.

       There were six young colts in the meadow besides me; they were older than I was; some were nearly as large as grown-up horses. I used to run with them, and had great fun; we used to gallop all together round and round the field as hard as we could go. Sometimes we had rather rough play, for they would frequently bite and kick as well as gallop.

       One day, when there was a good deal of kicking, my mother whinnied to me to come to her, and then she said:

       “I wish you to pay attention to what I am going to say to you. The colts who live here are very good colts, but they are cart-horse colts, and of course they have not learned manners. You have been well-bred and well-born; your father has a great name in these parts, and your grandfather won the cup two years at the Newmarket races; your grandmother had the sweetest temper of any horse I ever knew, and I think you have never seen me kick or bite. I hope you will grow up gentle and good, and never learn bad ways; do your work with a good will, lift your feet up well when you trot, and never bite or kick even in play.”

       I have never forgotten my mother’s advice; I knew she was a wise old horse, and our master thought a great deal of her. Her name was Duchess, but he often called her Pet.

       Our master was a good, kind man. He gave us good food, good lodging, and kind words; he spoke as kindly to us as he did to his little children. We were all fond of him, and my mother loved him very much. When she saw him at the gate she would neigh with joy, and trot up to him. He would pat and stroke her and say, “Well, old Pet, and how is your little Darkie?” I was a dull black, so he called me Darkie; then he would give me a piece of bread, which was very good, and sometimes he brought a carrot for my mother. All the horses would come to him, but I think we were his favorites. My mother always took him to the town on a market day in a light gig.

       There was a plowboy, Dick, who sometimes came into our field to pluck blackberries from the hedge. When he had eaten all he wanted he would have what he called fun with the colts, throwing stones and sticks at them to make them gallop. We did not much mind him, for we could gallop off; but sometimes a stone would hit and hurt us.

       One day he was at this game, and did not know that the master was in the next field; but he was there, watching what was going on; over the hedge he