the countryside was cleared of the
invading mist, which was ingloriously retreating to its own territory
behind the distant hills. There was a sparkle in the air, and the rich
colourings of the flowers vied with each other in Beauty's quarrel. The
birds flew from tree to tree, singing their paean of the sun's victory,
and a light summer breeze was scattering perfume over the earth.

As a sick man emerging from a fever, Selwyn let the refreshing vigour of
the morning lave his temples with its potency. Looking towards the
stables, he saw Mathews, the groom, come out of his domain to cast an
approving glance on Nature's performance. Selwyn decided that he would
go and say good-bye to the fellow. There was something both sturdy and
picturesque about him, and the American presumed that even the head-groom
of the Durwents would not be averse to a ten-shilling gratuity. He
therefore left his room, and reaching the lawn, strolled over to the
stables.

'Good-morning, Mr. Selwyn,' said the groom cheerily, touching his
forehead in a semi-nautical greeting.

'Good-day, Mathews. How are all your family this morning?'

'Meaning the hosses, sir, or opposite-like, my old mare and her colt?
Likewise and sim'lar, and no disrespeck meant, meaning my old woman and
little Wellington.'

'Well,' Selwyn smiled at the worthy man's ramifications, 'I did mean the
horses, but I am even more anxious to know how Mrs. Mathews is.'

'She's a-bloomin', Mr. Selwyn, she is. When I sees 'er t' other night
dancin' at the village, I says to myself, "Criky! If she hain't got a
action like a young filly!" Real proud I was of 'er, and 'er being no
two-year-old neither, but opposite-wise free of the rheumatiz, as is
getting into my withers like.'

'And how is--did you say his name was Wellington?'

'That's 'is 'andle, Mr. Selwyn, conseckens o' 'is being born with the
largest nose I ever sees on a hoffspring o' his age. He's only four year
and a little better, but--criky!--if 'e ain't the knowingest little colt
as ever I raised! When my old woman gives 'im 'is bath 'e goes "Hiss-ss,
hiss-ss," just like a proper groom rubbin' down a hoss. But 'e's a
hunfeeling wretch, 'e is, for when I goes 'ome arter feedin'-time o'
nights, and thinks I'll just smoke a quiet pipe, 'e ups and says,
"Lincoln Steeplechase, guv'nor, and I'm a-riding you." And there he has
everything around the room--'is little table and chairs and toy pianner,
and I've got to