“The same dealer heard of me, and said he thought he knew one place where I should do well. ''Twas a pity,' he said, 'that such a fine horse should go to the bad, for want of a real good chance,' and the end of it was that I came here not long before you did; but I had then made up my mind that men were my natural enemies and that I must defend myself. Of course it is very different here, but who knows how long it will last? I wish I could think about things as you do; but I can't, after all I have gone through.”      

       “Well,” I said, “I think it would be a real shame if you were to bite or       kick John or James.”      

       “I don't mean to,” she said, “while they are good to me. I did bite James once pretty sharp, but John said, 'Try her with kindness,' and instead of punishing me as I expected, James came to me with his arm bound up, and brought me a bran mash and stroked me; and I have never snapped at him since, and I won't either.”      

       I was sorry for Ginger, but of course I knew very little then, and I thought most likely she made the worst of it; however, I found that as the weeks went on she grew much more gentle and cheerful, and had lost the watchful, defiant look that she used to turn on any strange person who came near her; and one day James said, “I do believe that mare is getting fond of me, she quite whinnied after me this morning when I had been rubbing her forehead.”      

       “Ay, ay, Jim, 'tis 'the Birtwick balls',” said John, “she'll be as good as Black Beauty by and by; kindness is all the physic she wants, poor thing!”        Master noticed the change, too, and one day when he got out of the carriage and came to speak to us, as he often did, he stroked her beautiful neck. “Well, my pretty one, well, how do things go with you now? You are a good bit happier than when you came to us, I think.”      

       She put her nose up to him in a friendly, trustful way, while he rubbed it gently.     

       “We shall make a cure of her, John,” he said.     

       “Yes, sir, she's wonderfully improved; she's not the same creature that she was; it's 'the Birtwick balls', sir,” said John, laughing.     

       This was a little joke of John's; he used to say that a regular course of       “the Birtwick 

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