No better place than this, probably, will occur to give a brief
account of some former events in the life of the young stranger,
resting and waiting at the village inn. Fifteen miles east of that
inn lived a farmer named Hall, a man of good repute, well-off in the
world, and head of a large family. He was fond of gain--required all
his boys to labor in proportion to their age; and his right hand man,
if he might not be called favorite, was his eldest son Richard. This
eldest son, an industrious, sober-faced young fellow, was invested by
his father with the powers of second in command; and as strict and
swift obedience was a prime tenet in the farmer's domestic government,
the children all tacitly submitted to their brother's sway--all but
one, and that was Frank. The farmer's wife was a quiet woman, in
rather tender health; and though for all her offspring she had a
mother's love, Frank's kiss ever seem'd sweetest to her lips. She
favor'd him more than the rest--perhaps, as in a hundred similar
instances, for his being so often at fault, and so often blamed. In
truth, however, he seldom receiv'd more blame than he deserv'd, for he
was a capricious, high-temper'd lad, and up to all kinds of mischief.
From these traits he was known in the neighborhood by the name of Wild
Frank.
Among the farmer's stock there was a fine young blood mare--a
beautiful creature, large and graceful, with eyes like dark-hued
jewels, and her color that of the deep night. It being the custom of
the farmer to let his boys have something about the farm that they
could call their own, and take care of as such, Black Nell, as the
mare was called, had somehow or other fallen to Frank's share.
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