d slope of the park,
to the great square of red stable buildings in the hollow; the horses
coming slowly towards him in single file. Cawing rooks streamed back
from the fallow-fields across the valley. Thrushes and blackbirds
carolled. A wren, in the bramble brake close by, broke into sharp sweet
song. The recurrent ring of an axe came from somewhere away in the fir
plantations, and the strident rasping of a saw from the wood-yard in
the beech grove near the house.

Richard stared at that oncoming procession. Half-way between him and
the foremost of the horses the tan ride branched off, and wound down
the hillside to the stables. The boy set his teeth. He arrived at a
desperate decision,--touched up the pony, drove on.

Chaplin leaned forward, addressing him, over the back of the seat.

"Better wait here, hadn't we, Sir Richard? They'll turn off in a
minute."

Richard did not look round. He tried to answer coldly, but his voice
shook.

"I know. That's why I am going on."

There was a silence save for the cawing of the rooks, ring of the axe,
and grinding of wheels on the gravel. Chaplin, responsible, correct,
over five-and-thirty, and fully intending to succeed old Mr. Wenham,
the head coachman, on the latter's impending retirement from active
service, went very red in the face.

"Excuse me, but I have my orders, Sir Richard," he said.

Dickie still looked straight ahead.

"Very well," he answered, "then perhaps you'd better get out and walk
on home."

"You know I'm bound not to leave you, sir," the man said.

Dickie laughed a little in uncontrollable excitement. He was close to
them now. The leading horse was just moving off the main road, its
shadow lying long across the turf. How was it possible to give way with
the prize within reach?--"You can go or stay Chaplin, as you please. I
mean to speak to Chifney. I--I mean to see the stables."

"It's as much as my place is worth, sir."

"Oh! bother your place!" the boy cried impetuously.--Dear heart alive,
how fine they were as they filed by! That chestnut filly, clean made as
a deer, her ears laid back as she reached at the bit; and the brown,
just behind her--"I mean, I mean you needn't be afraid, Chaplin--I'll
speak to her ladyship. I'll arrange all that. Go to the pony's head."

At the end of the long string of horses came the trainer--a
square-built, short-necked man, sanguine complexioned and clean shaven.
Of hair, indeed, Mr. Chifney could only boa