94 ^^^^ Hon. Adolphits Lightfoot, 



wanted, no power on earth could make him. You might flog 

 him until you were black in the face— move he would not. 

 His owner, though, was fond of the brute in spite of his 

 faults, and though he was always vowing he would shoot 

 him or sell him, he never did, and the black pony conse- 

 quently passed his time very pleasantly, his principal 

 work being to go backwards and forwards to Bullerton 

 whenever things were required for the house, such as fish, 

 or parcels from the station and such like. There was one 

 thing that old Satan — that was the pony's name — had a 

 more rooted aversion to than anything else, and that was 

 water. Knowing that peculiarity of his, Mr. Lightfoot's 

 men never dreamt of attempting to cross a ford with him. 

 They had all of them, including their Honourable master, 

 had a try at various times, but it was no go, and at last 

 having stopped, dog-cart and all, with the Honourable's 

 swell stud-groom in the middle of a river, and kept him there 

 for three mortal hours before he would stir, they gave it up 

 as a bad job. Satan was pronounced incorrigible, and for 

 the future was allowed to run loose as far as water was con- 

 cerned. The younger son then, feeling rather bored and 

 cudgelling his brains as to how he could have a bit of fun at 

 someone else's expense, suddenly bethought him of a plan. 

 Now, old Charlie Dabber, whenever he drove that way, 

 either by day or night, instead of coming along the road like 

 an ordinary mortal, was in the habit of using a cart-path 

 that ran through a neighbouring farm and brought him 

 down to the river-side. He would then, by crossing a 

 couple of fords, succeed in savinghimself nearly two miles, 

 and— what he thought a good deal more of— a pike into the 

 bargain. Now, the Honourable was well aware of this 

 practice of the Captain's, and it struck him that it would be 



