Winter turned to spring and the weather got much better, though the life of a London cab horse is always hard.
Still I knew I had it better than many. I found out just how much better one day.
Jerry's cab and several others were waiting at the edge of a park.
There was a concert in the park that day.
The cabbies knew that lots of people would be looking for a ride home after the music was over.
While we were standing there, a shabby old cab stopped beside ours.
The horse pulling it was an old, worn-out chestnut mare.
She had a dull coat, and you could count every rib on her thin sides.
Jerry had put out some hay for me to eat while we waited.
The wind blew a few strands over toward the other horse, and she stretched out her long, thin neck to pick it up.
Then she turned and looked around for more with her hopeless eyes.
I thought there was something familiar about her.
Before I could figure it out, she looked at me and cried, "Black Beauty! Is that you?"
It was Ginger! But it was no wonder I hadn't recognized her at first.
She looked like a different horse.
Her beautiful arched neck was now straight and thin.
Her long, delicate legs were swollen from hard work.
And her face, which had once been so full of life and spirit, now showed only suffering.
She coughed, and I could tell her breathing problems were worse than ever.
What had happened to her?
Our drivers were standing together a short distance away, so I moved a step or two closer so Ginger and I could talk.
"They rested me at Earlshall for a year or so," she began.
"By then I had recovered enough to be fit for work again.
The earl's son had lost interest in me, so I was sold to a gentleman in the area."
"Was he a kind master?" I asked.
"He was all right," Ginger replied. "We got along pretty well at first.
But one day he took me for a longer gallop than usual, and my breathing problems returned."
"Oh no!" I murmured.
"The gentleman had me rested and treated again, but then he sold me too," Ginger said.
She went on to describe what had happened next.
She'd changed hands several times, always ending up in a worse situation than before.
Each owner had quickly realized she couldn't work hard without her health problems returning.
"Finally I was sold to a man who keeps a number of cabs and horses.
He leases them out to drivers who can't afford their own," Ginger said.
"When he found out about my breathing problems, he decided to send me out with one of his cheapest cabs.
The driver doesn't care how hard he uses me.
All he cares about is making enough to pay his lease and have some profit left over.
So I work all the time, never even getting a day's rest."
"How terrible!" I said.
"But you used to stand up for yourself when you were mistreated, Ginger."
"I know," she said with a heavy sigh. "But what's the point?
If humans decide to treat us badly, they're going to do it no matter what.
All we can do is bear it as best we can until the end.
I'm glad you seem to have a kind master, Beauty.
As for me, I look forward to the day when all this will end."
I felt very sad, especially when I remembered what a fine horse she'd once been.
I could think of nothing to say that might make things better.
So I put my nose close to hers, trying to comfort her.
"You're the only friend I ever had," she told me.
Just then her driver hurried over and hopped into the cab.
With a yank at the reins, he drove her away, leaving me feeling very troubled.
It was only a week or so later that a cart carrying a dead horse passed by the cab stand.
The horse's head hung lifelessly over the back edge.
It was such a dreadful sight that I couldn't look for long.
I saw enough, however, to know that the horse was a chestnut with a long neck and a white blaze.
I believe it was my friend Ginger lying there in that cart.
I hope it was her anyway. That would mean her suffering is over at last.