"Detained; shall be down by last train; need not come up
to-morrow.--BRYAN."
When the boy was gone, she stooped down and stroked the old dog's head.
"Master home all day to-morrow, Ossy--master home!"
A voice from the path said, "Beautiful evenin', ma'am."
The "old scoundrel," Pettance, stiffer in the ankle-joints, with more
lines in his gargoyle's face, fewer stumps in his gargoyle's mouth, more
film over his dark, burning little eyes, was standing before her, and,
behind him, little Gyp, one foot rather before the other, as Gyp had
been wont to stand, waited gravely.
"Oh, Pettance, Mr. Summerhay will be at home all to-morrow, and we'll go
a long ride: and when you exercise, will you call at the inn, in case
I don't go that way, and tell Major Winton I expect him to dinner
to-night?"
"Yes, ma'am; and I've seen the pony for little Miss Gyp this morning,
ma'am. It's a mouse pony, five year old, sound, good temper, pretty
little paces. I says to the man: 'Don't you come it over me,' I says;
'I was born on an 'orse. Talk of twenty pounds, for that pony! Ten, and
lucky to get it!' 'Well,' he says, 'Pettance, it's no good to talk round
an' round with you. Fifteen!' he says. 'I'll throw you one in,' I says,
'Eleven! Take it or leave it.' 'Ah!' he says, 'Pettance, YOU know 'ow to
buy an 'orse. All right,' he says; 'twelve!' She's worth all of fifteen,
ma'am, and the major's passed her.
Pages:
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367