After some more cordial had been given me, and after one or two attempts, I staggered to my feet, and was gently led to some stables which were close by. Here I was put into a well-littered stall, and some warm gruel was brought to me, which I drank thankfully.

In the evening I was sufficiently recovered to be led back to Skinner’s stables, where I think they did the best for me they could. In the morning Skinner came with a farrier to look at me. He examined me very closely and said, “This is a case of overwork more than disease, and if you could give him a run off for six months he would be able to work again; but now there is not an ounce of strength left in him.”

“Then he must just go to the dogs,” said Skinner. “I have no meadows to nurse sick horses in⁠—he might get well or he might not; that sort of thing don’t suit my business; my plan is to work ’em as long as they’ll go, and then sell ’em for what they’ll fetch, at the knacker’s or elsewhere.”