  “Have bought a first-class mount,” read out the vicar, from a telegram which he had just received. “There,” he said to his wife, “it’s done now—so Towser will have to go.” “What, part with Towser? Poor old Towser,” spoke up Mrs. Dene. “He’s so slow, and I have been indulgent too long already. Now, don’t make a fuss, my dear. I daresay you have grown fond of him, and so you will be of the new horse when it comes.” That settled it. Next morning soon after breakfast, the groom led a fine spirited mount “Ah! Lucy Lu! Now are you not pleased with my new purchase?” he cried. “You are sure that horse is quiet, John?” “Read the warranty.” “Please don’t bracket them together. They are two entirely different animals. This new horse is well bred, and but six years old; while Towser has not many good points and is aged.” “You won’t send Towser away—now will you, John? for I’m sure this new horse will not suit. He’s got such a wicked eye.” “My dear, what silly things you say. I can see you don’t like my new purchase, and I do,” said the vicar, emphatically. “Morning, Hopkins.” “Morning, sir.” “Well, this appears to be a grand creature,” stroking the mane. “Yes, sir,” said the groom. “Indeed he’s not, sir.” “Well, we shall see. I’ll take him for a ride.” And as his master rode away, “He’s a real bad’un that little horse is,” said Hopkins. “A reg’lar bad’un. Bought at a grand Repository, and quiet and sound, warranty says—a real varmint,” says I. Now as Lele was stepping along, would it not be as well to tell you something of him, children? To begin with, he had been sold several times, changed masters more than once for something worse than disobedience. He So he looked this way and that, snorted, gave a bit of a jerk, just to rouse his new master, and than sighed. “Well, it’s come to a nice thing now,” he grunted, “me—a well-set-up sprightly hunter, knocked down at a sale for thirty pounds! Sold to an old parson. Humph! I’ve seen lots of parsons in the hunting field, but never thought I’d like to live with one. Now I know I shan’t. Wish I hadn’t thrown Lord Jim. Bless me! Changed my walk in life entirely, and however I shall take to being a goody-goody horse I don’t know. Suppose I shall have to eat second-rate oats till I grow old and wheezy.” A gentleman who was riding along “Hallo!” said Lele to the stranger’s mare. “How do! Fine morning.” “Very,” said the sedate little grey mare. “Not much doing here. Slow sort of place I should say, eh?” “I don’t know what you mean? Have you just come to this neighbourhood?” “Came last night. Slow train. Block in the line. A miserable journey.” “No.” “Oh! you rude creature, I shan’t talk to you any more! Where do you come from, and whatever is the vicar doing with you?” Lele took no notice. Presently he said: “Does nobody hunt here?” “Hunt? My master doesn’t, but people he knows do. I’m sure your master doesn’t.” Lele groaned. “Well, however I’m going to suit goodness knows. I shall die of yawning and rust out before a month is over.” “As I was saying,” said the vicar to his friend, “I think he is a perfect little horse. He is quiet, as you see, and I’m not likely to kill him with “We have not stiff hills in this neighbourhood.” Lele grew restive. “And life is much the same all the year round.” “Shall I bolt?” fumed Lele. “I ride for an hour in the mor—” “Look here, I can’t stand this. In all the homes I’ve had there’s been something to do. There’s been steeplechasing in Spring—hunting—” “Why, the hounds are out,” called Mr. Dobson. He was riding a little way in front and could see over the hedge. “See! there’s the whip making for Cranstone Hill! Is he used to following the hounds?” “Do you hunt, Mr. Grey?” “Oh, yes, but I haven’t indulged in such things for years.” “Then you’d better get off—I wouldn’t trust that horse.” But the vicar had no time to get off, and another thing he did not mean to. He meant to stop on. “It’s my opinion my master is not so simple as he looks,” thought Lele. “He’s been used to spurs he has. What a dig he did give me then. I shall have to try to unsettle him—for he is rather a heavy load to carry, and I mean to follow the hounds—” “Tally ho!” rang out in the clear morning air as Lele bucked. The vicar stuck on. He shied. He jibbed. But he might have exploded if he liked, nothing short of an earthquake would have disturbed the vicar. “I say, hold hard there,” yelled Mr. Dobson, “he’ll kill you.” “No, he won’t.” “You’d better get off.” “Not if I know it.” “You won’t, then, eh!” struck in “Allow me to congratulate you, good sir,” he said. “Now, just look here,” interrupted Lele—only nobody noticed him—“that brush belongs to me. I followed the hounds, and as I couldn’t throw the vicar off, of course I had to bring him—much against his will—a fact, I “Lily!” “Goodness me! Wonders will never cease, I own a vicar now—you know I was bundled off to a Repository after I had thrown Lord Jim.” “He’s here.” “Never!” “But he is, sir! Here he comes riding that limping crocodile of a nag—don’t think he is benefited by the change—do you, Lele?” But before Lele could answer Lord Jim had discovered his late horse. He made up to the vicar as they were going home. “Excuse me, sir,” he began, and then, “allow me to congratulate you on your horse.” “What, another!” said the vicar. “That accounts for my possession—fact is I have just bought him.” And then it all came out—Lord Jim repented parting with Lele, and although the good vicar said nothing, he thought, “Well, he’s certainly a bargain, but my parish will miss me if, every time I want a little trot out, my horse takes it into his head to follow the hounds.” And how it came about I cannot tell you, children, but before the vicar got home he decided to let Lord Jim have his favourite back again. “I repented it directly after. But you do look so stupid being thrown in the hunting field—it was the first time, you know.” The vicar nodded—and Mrs. Grey chuckled when he came home, safe but very much shaken. “Yes, my dear, you are right.” “Old Towser?” “Shall remain.” “And Lele?” “Again belongs to Lord Jim.” “It was a clear walk over that,” mused Lele as he crunched the well-grown “Five,” said Biddy. “And I’m entered for next Spring steeplechases, so Tally ho! But I know—I’ll never throw Lord Jim again!” |
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