Чорний красень

47 Hard Times

           IthoughtIheardthatsweet,pitifulvoicesaying,“Oh!thatpoorhorse!itisallourfault.”Someonecameandloosenedthethroatstrapofmybridle,andundidthetraceswhichkeptthecollarsotightuponme.Someonesaid,“He’sdead,he’llnevergetupagain.”ThenIcouldhearapolicemangivingorders,butIdidnotevenopenmyeyes;Icouldonlydrawagaspingbreathnowandthen.Somecoldwaterwasthrownovermyhead,andsomecordialwaspouredintomymouth,andsomethingwascoveredoverme.IcannottellhowlongIlaythere,butIfoundmylifecomingback,andakind-voicedmanwaspattingmeandencouragingmetorise.Aftersomemorecordialhadbeengivenme,andafteroneortwoattempts,Istaggeredtomyfeet,andwasgentlyledtosomestableswhichwerecloseby.HereIwasputintoawell-litteredstall,andsomewarmgruelwasbroughttome,whichIdrankthankfully.

           IntheeveningIwassufficientlyrecoveredtobeledbacktoSkinner’sstables,whereIthinktheydidthebestformetheycould.InthemorningSkinnercamewithafarriertolookatme.Heexaminedmeverycloselyandsaid:

           “Thisisacaseofoverworkmorethandisease,andifyoucouldgivehimarunoffforsixmonthshewouldbeabletoworkagain;butnowthereisnotanounceofstrengthleftinhim.”

           “Thenhemustjustgotothedogs,”saidSkinner

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