when we were on the common he gave me a light touch with his
whip, and we had a splendid gallop.

"Ho, ho! my boy," he said, as he pulled me up, "you would like to follow
the hounds, I think."

As we came back through the park we met the Squire and Mrs. Gordon
walking; they stopped, and John jumped off.

"Well, John, how does he go?"

"First-rate, sir," answered John; "he is as fleet as a deer, and has a
fine spirit too; but the lightest touch of the rein will guide him. Down
at the end of the common we met one of those traveling carts hung all
over with baskets, rugs, and such like; you know, sir, many horses will
not pass those carts quietly; he just took a good look at it, and then
went on as quiet and pleasant as could be. They were shooting rabbits
near the Highwood, and a gun went off close by; he pulled up a little
and looked, but did not stir a step to right or left. I just held the
rein steady and did not hurry him, and it's my opinion he has not been
frightened or ill-used while he was young."

"That's well," said the squire, "I will try him myself to-morrow."

The next day I was brought up for my master. I remembered my mother's
counsel and my good old master's, and I tried to do exactly what he
wanted me to do. I found he was a very good rider, and thoughtful for
his horse too. When he came home the lady was at the hall door as he
rode up.

"Well, my dear," she said, "how do you like him?"

"He is exactly what John said," he replied; "a pleasanter creature I
never wish to mount. What shall we call him?"

"Would you like Ebony?" said she; "he is as black as ebony."

"No, not Ebony."

"Will you call him Blackbird, like your uncle's old horse?"

"No, he is far handsomer than old Blackbird ever was."

"Yes," she said, "he is really quite a beauty, and he has such a sweet,
good-tempered face, and such a fine, intelligent eye--what do you say to
calling him Black Beauty?"

"Black Beauty--why, yes, I think that is a very good name. If you like
it shall be his name;" and so it was.

When John went into the stable he told James that master and mistress
had chosen a good, sensible English name for me, that meant something;
not like Marengo, or Pegasus, or Abdallah. They both laughed, and James
said, "If it was not for bringing back the past, I should have named him
Rob Roy, for I never saw two horses more alike."

"That's no wonder," said John; "didn't you know that Farmer Grey's old
Duchess was th