"
It seemed there was no jail at Saffron Walden, because, to the honour
of the borough be it said, they had no one to put into it; and this
small child had been committed for safe custody to Chelmsford to wait
his trial at sessions, and had been there so long that he was actually
forgotten when the day of trial came. I never heard anything more of
him; but hope his small offence was forgotten as well as himself.
CHAPTER IX.
THE ONLY "RACER" I EVER OWNED--SAM LINTON, THE DOG-FINDER.
I have been often asked whether I ever owned a racer. In point of
fact, I never did, although I went as near to that honour as any man
who never arrived at it--a racer, too, who afterwards carried its
owner's colours triumphantly past the winning-post.
The reader may have been shocked at the story I told of those poor
ill-brought-up children whose mother was murdered, from the natural
feeling that if pure innocence is not to be found in childhood, where
are we to seek it?
I will indicate the spot in three words--_on the Turf_.
True, you will find fraud, cunning, knavery, and robbery, but you will
find also the most unsophisticated innocence.
I went as a spectator, a lover of sport, and a lover of horses; and
took more delight in it than I ever could in any haunt of fashionable
idleness.
I amused myself by watching the proceedings of the betting-ring, where
there is a good deal more honesty than in many places dignified by the
name of "marts.
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