st a rim of carroty-gray
stubble under the rim of the back of his hard hat. His right eye had
suffered damage, and the pupil of it was white and viscous. His lips
were straight and purplish in colour. He raised his hat and would have
followed on down the slope, but Dickie called to him.

As he rode up an unwonted expression came over Mr. Chifney's shrewd,
hard-favoured face. He took off his hat and sat there, bare-headed in
the sunshine, looking down at the boy, his hand on his hip.

"Good-day, Sir Richard," he said. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, yes," Dickie stammered, all his soul in his eyes, his cheeks
aflame, "you can do just what I want most. Take me down, Chifney, and
show me the horses."

Here Chaplin coughed discreetly behind his hand. But that proved of
small avail, save possibly in the way of provocation. For socially
between the racing and house stables was a great gulf fixed; and Mr.
Chifney could hardly be expected to recognise the existence of a man in
livery standing at a pony's head, still less to accept direction from
such a person. Servants must be kept in their place--impudent, lazy
enough lot anyhow, bless you! On his feet the trainer had been known to
decline to moments of weakness. But in the saddle, a good horse under
him, he possessed unlimited belief in his own judgment, fearing neither
man, devil, nor even his own meek-faced wife with pink ribbons in her
cap. Moreover, he felt such heart as he had go out strangely to the
beautiful, eager boy gazing up at him.

"Nothing 'ud give me greater pleasure in life, Sir Richard," he said,
"if you're free to come. We've waited a long time, a precious long
time, sir, for you to come down and take a look at your horses."

"I'd have been to see them sooner. I'd have given anything to see them.
I've never had the chance, somehow."

Chifney pursed up his lips, and surveyed the distant landscape with a
very meaning glance. "I dare say not, Sir Richard. But better late than
never, you know; and so, if you are free to come----"

Again Chaplin coughed.

"Free to come? Of course I am free to come," Dickie asserted, his pride
touched to arrogance. And Mr. Chifney looked at him, an approving
twinkle in his sound eye.

"I agree, Sir Richard. Quite right, sir, you're free, of course."

Stolen waters are sweet, says the proverb. And to Richard Calmady, his
not wholly legitimate experience of the next hour was sweet indeed. For
there remains rich harv