The next day at three o'clock, we were back at the front door.
Once again there was a rustle of silk as the lady of the house approached.
But this time her frown was deeper.
"York, you must put those horses' heads higher," she ordered.
"They aren't fit to be seen."
"I beg your pardon, my lady," York said respectfully, "but these horses are not accustomed to wearing a checkrein.
Your husband thought it would be better to get them used to it slowly.
But if you prefer, I can tighten them up a little more."
"Do so," she said.
York shortened our checkreins himself.
He did it only slightly, but even that made a difference.
At first it wasn't too bad.
Then we came to a steep hill, and I began to understand why Ginger hated the checkrein so much.
I wanted to put my head forward to help pull the carriage up the hill, as usual.
But this time I couldn't, and my back and legs felt the strain.
"Now you see what it's like," Ginger said when we were back in our stalls.
"It's still not too bad.
As long as it doesn't get much worse, I'll be fine.
They treat us well otherwise. But if they try to make it too tight, look out!
I can't bear it, and I won't!"
Day by day, hole by hole, the reins were shortened.
My work got more and more difficult and uncomfortable.
I used to look forward to being put in harness. Now I hated it.
Ginger seemed unhappy too. But she didn't say much about it.
Several days passed where York didn't shorten the reins any more.
I thought the worst was over. As it turned out, I was wrong.
One day we pulled up to the house as usual.
"Aren't you going to get those horses' heads up, York?" the lady complained.
"Raise them right now—they've had plenty of time to adjust!"
York nodded without saying anything. He came to me first.
Lifting my head up, he fastened the checkrein so tightly that I could hardly move.
Next he went to Ginger.
I could see by the look in her eyes that she knew exactly what was coming.
She started jerking her head up and down against the bit.
Then, as soon as York unbuckled the rein to tighten it, Ginger reared up onto her hind legs.
Her knee hit York in the nose, knocking him back so hard that his hat flew off.
He hopped back up right away and rushed toward her head.
A groom standing nearby also tried to grab her.
Ginger was a match for both of them.
She kept bucking, rearing, and kicking out frantically.
At last she tripped over the harness pole and fell, accidentally kicking one of my hind legs on her way down.
There's no telling what she would have done next.
But this time York was too quick for her.
He sat on her head to keep her from getting up.
Soon several people were cutting Ginger free from her harness, while a groom quickly unbuckled me from the carriage.
He led me back to my stall, put me inside, and hurried off again.
I was still in my harness with my head tied up.
After what had just happened, I was feeling upset.
If I'd ever been the type to kick or rear, I'm sure I would have done it then.
But instead I just stood there, angry and uncomfortable, with my leg throbbing from that kick.
A few minutes later two grooms led Ginger in. She looked tired and bruised.
York followed, and after watching them put her in her stall, he came to me.
"Stupid checkreins," he muttered as he set my head free.
"I suspected there would be a problem after what Manly told me.
I wish the earl could have talked some sense into his wife.
There was no reason for this to happen."
He noticed my injured leg.
Calling in a groom, he ordered him to clean it and put some lotion on it.
Ginger was never hitched to the carriage again.
When she'd recovered from the incident, the earl's son said he wanted to try her as his riding horse.
As for me, from then on I was paired with a horse named Max.
He was used to the tight checkrein, and one day I asked him how he stood it.
"I bear it because I must," he replied simply.
"But I'm sure it's shortening my life, and it will shorten yours too."
I suspected he was right.
And that made me feel I had no friends at all among the humans at my new home.