Chap­ter 40: Poor Gin­ger brings with it a moment of qui­et shock and deep sor­row as Black Beau­ty encoun­ters a fig­ure from his past in heart­break­ing con­di­tion. Rest­ing near the stand, Beau­ty notices a worn cab being pulled by a thin chest­nut mare, bare­ly able to lift her legs as she strains against the shafts. Her ribs are vis­i­ble through her dull coat, and her knees look swollen and stiff with overuse. There is no grace left in her step, only the trem­bling of a body pushed far beyond its strength. The mare stum­bles to a stop near Beau­ty, and when she low­ers her head toward his hay, he rec­og­nizes her—Ginger, his old com­pan­ion. Time and hard­ship have changed her so much that only her voice and mark­ings con­firm her iden­ti­ty. This chance meet­ing fills Beau­ty with both joy and anguish, know­ing that the proud, spir­it­ed horse he once knew is now reduced to such suf­fer­ing.

In soft, weary tones, Gin­ger recounts the path that brought her here. After being sold by the peo­ple at Earl­shall, her life took a down­ward turn. At first, her new mas­ter was kind, and she had hopes of rest and bet­ter care. But old strains in her legs returned, and once her work slowed, she was sold again. Each sale brought her into the hands of some­one less patient, less kind, and more focused on prof­it than well­be­ing. Her diet grew worse, her sta­ble grew cold­er, and her treat­ment harsh­er. Gin­ger admits that she has long since giv­en up the will to resist. Her days are filled with haul­ing pas­sen­gers who rarely notice her, while her dri­ver lash­es out at every mis­step. The pain in her limbs is con­stant, and her spirit—once so fiery—is near­ly gone.

Their con­ver­sa­tion is inter­rupt­ed as her dri­ver returns and yanks her reins rough­ly, pulling her back into the street. As she dis­ap­pears into the crowd, Beau­ty is left haunt­ed by the encounter. He real­izes how quick­ly for­tunes change for hors­es in their world. One moment, they are admired and well-kept; the next, they are sold off and for­got­ten. Ginger’s sto­ry is not rare—it is the fate of many. Even ani­mals who serve faith­ful­ly and with strength are dis­card­ed the moment their bod­ies begin to fail. This real­i­ty fills Beau­ty with dread, not just for Gin­ger but for him­self and oth­ers like them. He wish­es he could have helped her, but in the cab ranks, com­pas­sion often gives way to sur­vival. His heart aches long after she van­ish­es from sight.

Gin­ger’s decline paints a vivid pic­ture of the broad­er sys­tem that gov­erns the lives of work­ing hors­es in cities. These ani­mals are not val­ued for who they are but for what they can do. Once their use­ful­ness fades, they are passed down to own­ers who demand more with few­er resources and less care. The sys­tem rarely offers reprieve—only the slow ero­sion of body and spir­it. For many cab hors­es, the rou­tine is pun­ish­ing: long hours, poor shel­ter, and no time to heal. Injuries go untreat­ed, and com­plaints go unheard. Gin­ger’s swollen joints and dull eyes speak vol­umes about the phys­i­cal toll of such a life. Yet the deep­er tragedy lies in the emo­tion­al toll—the loss of iden­ti­ty, dig­ni­ty, and hope that fol­lows when com­pas­sion is stripped away day by day.

What makes this chap­ter so pow­er­ful is not just the pain it reveals but the mem­o­ry it revives. Gin­ger was once bold, con­fi­dent, and strong-willed, nev­er afraid to speak her mind. Her pres­ence in ear­li­er chap­ters added a bal­ance to Beauty’s gen­tler nature, show­ing strength through inde­pen­dence. See­ing her like this is a stark reminder that no spir­it, how­ev­er strong, is immune to suf­fer­ing when neglect­ed long enough. This meet­ing also forces read­ers to con­front a dif­fi­cult truth: the fate of many ani­mals is tied not to their behav­ior, but to how peo­ple treat them. One owner’s neglect can undo years of care, and there’s rarely a sec­ond chance once the down­ward slide begins. Ginger’s sto­ry calls for empa­thy not only for the ani­mals we care for but also for those we pass by with­out notice.

Ani­mal wel­fare remains a crit­i­cal con­cern even today, and the sto­ry of Gin­ger res­onates across gen­er­a­tions. Around the world, work­ing ani­mals in urban and rur­al set­tings still face the same challenges—overuse, under­nour­ish­ment, and aban­don­ment. Advo­cates con­tin­ue to fight for improved leg­is­la­tion, shel­ter access, and edu­ca­tion on humane treat­ment. But sto­ries like Ginger’s remind us that laws alone are not enough. Real change begins with aware­ness and the will­ing­ness to see ani­mals as more than tools. Com­pas­sion must be prac­ticed, not assumed. In Gin­ger’s qui­et suf­fer­ing and her final meet­ing with Beau­ty, Anna Sewell deliv­ers one of the book’s most emo­tion­al appeals: the call to treat every crea­ture with the dig­ni­ty they deserve, no mat­ter their strength, age, or use­ful­ness.