and--in place of stirrups and stirrup-leathers--with
a pair of contrivances resembling old-fashioned holsters. Mary
Cathcart's brown eyes had grown moist on first beholding it. And
Colonel Ormiston had exclaimed, "Good God! Oh, well, poor dear little
chap, I suppose it's the best we can do for him." An ugly saddle--yet
had Josiah Appleyard ample reason to skip, goat-like, being glad. For,
ugly or not, it fulfilled its purpose, bringing custom to the maker and
happiness and health to the owner of it.

The boy rode fearlessly, while exercise and exertion begot in him a
certain light-heartedness and audacity good to see. The window-seat of
the Long Gallery, the book-shelves of the library, knew him but seldom
now. He was no less courteous, no less devoted to his mother, no less
in admiration of her beauty; but the young barbarian was well awake in
Dickie, and drove him out of doors, on to the moorland or into the
merry greenwood, with dog, and horse, and gun. On his well-broken pony
he shot over the golden stubble fields in autumn, brought down his
pheasants, stationed at the edge of the great coverts; went out for
long afternoons, rabbiting in the warrens and field banks, escorted by
spaniels and retrievers, and keepers carrying lithe, lemon-coloured
ferrets tied up in a bag.

Later, when he was older,--but this tried Katherine somewhat, reminding
her too keenly of another Richard Calmady and days long dead,--Winter,
a trifle reluctant at such shortening of his own virtuous slumbers,
would call Dickie and dress him, all in the gray of the summer morning;
while, at the little arched doorway in the west front, Chifney and a
groom with a led horse would await his coming, and the boy would mount
and ride away from the great, sleeping house. At such times a charm of
dewy freshness lay on grass and woodland, on hill and vale. The morning
star grew pale and vanished in the clear-flashing delight of sunrise,
as Richard rode forth to meet the string of racers; as he noted the
varying form and fortune of Rattlepate or Sweet Rosemary, of Yellow
Jacket, Morion or Light-o'-Love, over the short fragrant turf of the
gallop; as he felt the virile joy which the strength of the horses and
the pounding rush of them as they swept past him ever aroused in him.
Then he would ride on, by a short cut, to the old, red-brick
rubbing-house, crowning the rising ground on the farther side of the
lake, and wait there to see the finish, talking of pro