A London Cab Horse.
My new master's name was Jeremiah Barker, but as every one called him Jerry, I shall do the same. Polly, his wife, was just as good a match as a man could have. She was a plump, trim, tidy little woman, with smooth dark hair, dark eyes, and a merry little mouth. The boy was nearly twelve years old; a tall, frank, good-tempered lad; and little Dorothy, (Dolly, they called her), was her mother over again, at eight years old. They were all wonderfully fond of each other; I never knew such a happy, merry family before, or since. Jerry had a cab of his own, and two horses, which he drove and attended to himself. His other horse was a tall, white, rather large-boned animal, called Captain; he was old now, but when he was young, he must have been splendid; he had still a proud way of holding his head, and arching his neck; in fact, he was a highbred, fine-mannered, noble old horse, every inch of him. He told me that in his early youth he went to the Crimean War; he belonged to an officer in the Cavalry, and used to lead the regiment; I will tell more of that hereafter.