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 the mother of them both?
I had never heard that before; and so poor Rob Roy who was killed
at that hunt was my brother! I did not wonder that my mother was so
troubled. It seems that horses have no relations; at least they never
know each other after they are sold.
John seemed very proud of me; he used to make my mane and tail almost as
smooth as a lady's hair, and he would talk to me a great deal; of course
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