CHAPTER XXIII.
A Strike for Liberty.
One day my lady came down later than usual, and the silk rustled more than ever.
"Drive to the Duchess of B's," she said, and then after a pause—"Are you never going to get those horses' heads up, York? Raise them up at once, and let us have no more of this humouring and nonsense."
York came to me first, whilst the groom stood at Ginger's head. He drew my head back and fixed the rein so tight that it was almost intolerable; then he went to Ginger, who was impatiently jerking her head up and down against the bit, as was her way now. She had a good idea of what was coming, and the moment York took the rein off the terret in order to shorten it, she took her opportunity, and reared up so suddenly, that York had his nose roughly hit, and his hat knocked off; the groom was nearly thrown off his legs. At once they both flew to her head, but she was a match for them, and went on plunging, rearing, and kicking in a most desperate manner; at last she kicked right over the carriage pole and fell down, after giving me a severe blow on my near quarter. There is no knowing what further
