about a horse.

"Ugly but likely," he said, with the deliberate air of a connoisseur.
"What they call in France a _beau laid_."

The girl demurred to the proposition. Her foal was _not_ bow-legged.

"His legs are all right," she said, somewhat tartly. "He's a bit _on_
the leg; but he's sure to be at that age."

"How's he bred, d'you know?" asked the other thoughtfully.

Boy was on the alert in a moment. That was a stable secret, and not to
be disclosed.

"I'm not _quite_ sure," she answered truthfully. "We picked up the dam
from a gypsy."

The fat man nodded. He seemed to know all about it. Indeed, it was his
business to know all about such things.

"She was a Black Death mare, that, no question," he said, and added
slowly, his eye wandering over the colt: "Looks to me like a Berserk
somehow." She had a feeling he was drawing her, and kept her face
inscrutable in a way that did credit to the teaching of Monkey Brand.
"If so, you've drawn a lucky number," continued the other. "Such things
happen, you know."

Boy moved on, and was aware that he was following her.

She turned and saw his face.

There was no mischief in the man, and fluttering in his eyes there was
that look of a hunted animal she had noticed in the Gap.

She stopped at once.

"What is it, Mr. Joses?" she asked.

She felt that he was calling to her for help.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Woodburn," he began.

"Yes, Mr. Joses."

Her deep voice was soft and encouraging as when she spoke to a sick
creature or a child. Those who knew only the resolute girl, who went her
own way with an almost fierce determination, would have been astonished
at her tenderness.

"That little mistake of mine on the cliff," muttered the man.

A great impulse of generosity flooded the girl's heart and coloured her
cheek.

"That's _quite_ all right," she said.

It was clear he was not satisfied.

His eyes wandered over heaven and earth, never meeting hers.

"You've not said anything to the police about that?"

"No!" she cried.

"Nor that gentleman?"

"Mr. Silver?"

"Yes."

"I'm _sure_ he hasn't."

The other drew a deep breath.

"It wouldn't help me any if he had," he said.

He looked up into the deep sky, that was gathering the dusk, and still
alive with the song of larks. "I wouldn't like to see 'em in a cage," he
said quietly. "It wasn't meant. Never!"

* * * * *

Next Saturday, when Mr. Silver came down, she