and slash of the
whip he drove out of the station.

The load was very heavy and I had had neither food nor rest since
morning; but I did my best, as I always had done, in spite of cruelty
and injustice.

I got along fairly till we came to Ludgate Hill; but there the heavy
load and my own exhaustion were too much. I was struggling to keep on,
goaded by constant chucks of the rein and use of the whip, when in a
single moment--I cannot tell how--my feet slipped from under me, and I
fell heavily to the ground on my side; the suddenness and the force
with which I fell seemed to beat all the breath out of my body. I lay
perfectly still; indeed, I had no power to move, and I thought now I was
going to die. I heard a sort of confusion round me, loud, angry voices,
and the getting down of the luggage, but it was all like a dream. I
thought I heard that sweet, pitiful voice saying, "Oh! that poor horse!
it is all our fault." Some one came and loosened the throat strap of
my bridle, and undid the traces which kept the collar so tight upon me.
Some one said, "He's dead, he'll never get up again." Then I could hear
a policeman giving orders, but I did not even open my eyes; I could only
draw a gasping breath now and then. Some cold water was thrown over
my head, and some cordial was poured into my mouth, and something was
covered over me. I cannot tell how long I lay there, but I found my life
coming back, and a kind-voiced man was patting me and encouraging me to
rise. After some more cordial had been given me, and after one or two
attempts, I staggered to my feet, and was gently led to some stables
which were close by. Here I was put into a well-littered stall, and some
warm gruel was brought to me, which I drank thankfully.

In the evening I was sufficiently recovered to be led back to Skinner's
stables, where I think they did the best for me they could. In the
morning Skinner came with a farrier to look at me. He examined me very
closely and said:

"This is a case of overwork more than disease, and if you could give him
a run off for six months he would be able to work again; but now there
is not an ounce of strength left in him."

"Then he must just go to the dogs," said Skinner. "I have no meadows to
nurse sick horses in--he might get well or he might not; that sort of
thing don't suit my business; my plan is to work 'em as long as they'll
go, and then sell 'em for what they'll fetch, at the knacker's or
elsewhere."