icely dressed, and has a
handsomer watch-chain than papa.

"Mdme. Cleremont said yesterday: 'I'm so sorry not to know your dear
mamma, Digby: but if I dared, I'd send her so many caresses, _de ma
part_.' I said nothing at the time, but I send them now, and am your
loving son,

"Digby Norcott."

This letter was much longer than it appears here. It filled several
sides of note-paper, and occupied me till daybreak. Indeed, I heard the
bell ringing for the workmen as I closed it, and shortly after a gentle
tap came to my door, and George Spunner, our head groom, entered.

"I saw you at the window, Master Digby," said he, "and I thought I'd
step up and tell you not to ride in spurs this morning. Sir Roger wants
to see you on May Blossom, and you know she's a hot 'un, sir, and don't
want the steel. Indeed, if she feels the boot, she's as much as a man
can do to sit."

"You 're a good fellow, George, to think of this," said I. "Do you know
where we 're going?"

"That's what I was going to tell you, sir. We are going to the Bois de
Cambre, and there's two of our men gone on with hurdles, to set them up
in the cross alleys of the wood, and we 're to come on 'em unawares, you
see."

"Then why don't you give me Father Tom or Hunger-ford?"

"The master would n't have either. He said, 'A child of five years old
could ride the Irish horse;' and as for Hungerford, he calls him a
circus horse."

"But who knows if Blossom will take a fence?"

"I'll warrant she'll go high enough; how she'll come down, and where,
is another matter. Only don't you go a-pullin' at her, ride her in the
snaffle, and as light as you can. Face her straight at what she's got to
go over, and let her choose her own pace."

"I declare I don't see how this is a fair trial of my riding, George. Do
you?"

"Well, it is, and it isn't," said he, scratching his head. "You might
have a very tidy hand and a nice seat, and not be able to ride the mare;
but then, sir, you see, if you have the judgment to manage her coolly,
and not rouse her temper too far, if you can bring her to a fence, and
make her take off at a proper distance, and fly it, never changing her
stride nor balk, why then he'll see you can ride."

"And if she rushes, or comes with her chest to a bank, or if--as I think
she will--she refuses her fence, rears, and falls back, what then?"

"Then I think the mornin's sport will be pretty nigh over," growled he;
as though I had suggested someth