sles of the cathedral of horses at
Ballsbridge. It was the first day of the show, and in token of Fanny
Fitz's enthusiasm be it recorded, it was little more than 9.30 A.M.
Fanny knew the show well, but hitherto only in its more worldly and
social aspects. Never before had she been of the elect who have a horse
"up," and as she hurried along, attended by Captain Spicer, at whose
house she was staying, and Mr. Alexander, she felt magnificently
conscious of the importance of the position.

The filly had preceded her from Craffroe by a couple of days, under the
charge of Patsey Crimmeen, lent by Freddy for the occasion.

"I don't expect a prize, you know," Fanny had said loftily to Mr.
Gunning, "but she has improved so tremendously, every one says she ought
to be an easy mare to sell."

The sun came filtering through the high roof down on to the long rows of
stalls, striking electric sparks out of the stirrup-irons and bits, and
adding a fresh gloss to the polish that the grooms were giving to their
charges. The judging had begun in several of the rings, and every now
and then a glittering exemplification of all that horse and groom could
be would come with soft thunder up the tan behind Fanny and her squires.

"We've come up through the heavy weights," said Captain Spicer; "the
twelve-stone horses will look like rats--" He stopped.

They had arrived at the section in which figured "No. 548. Miss F.
Fitzroy's 'Gamble,' grey mare; 4 years, by Grey Dawn," and opposite
them was stall No. 548. In it stood the Connemara filly, or rather
something that might have been her astral body. A more spectral,
deplorable object could hardly be imagined. Her hind quarters had fallen
in, her hips were standing out; her ribs were like the bars of a grate;
her head, hung low before her, was turned so that one frightened eye
scanned the passers-by, and she propped her fragile form against the
partition of her stall, as though she were too weak to stand up.

To say that Fanny Fitz's face fell is to put it mildly. As she described
it to Mrs. Spicer, it fell till it was about an inch wide and five miles
long. Captain Spicer was speechless. Freddy alone was equal to demanding
of Patsey Crimmeen what had happened to the mare.

"Begor, Masther Freddy, it's a wonder she's alive at all!" replied
Patsey, who was now perceived to be looking but little better than the
filly. "She was middlin' quiet in the thrain, though she went to lep out
o' the