114 TALES OF THE TURF AND THE CHASE. 



Mr. Auctioneer turned and whispered to my father, and the mare 

 was walked off covered with ignominy. 



As we drove home, I ventured a remark, amongst others, 

 upon the unseasonable interference of the old idiot in the blouse. 



' I'm pleased she's going to stay with us,' said my father 

 curtly, and gave the horse a cut with the whip. 



I could not make my father out ; I was silent. 



V. 



It was November, and the height of the shooting-season, 

 when father reminded me that an attempt must be made to train 

 that mare ; had we not better begin at once ? I agreed that we 

 had. It was always great trouble to take and halter it. But, 

 for the most part, once in a corner she submitted to be led off 

 quietly. 



We tried the saddle on her, just to see how she would wear 

 it ; for nothing serious could be attempted till that precious baby 

 of hers should have been weaned. She submitted to the saddle 

 as if she had been under it all her days. She seemed so quiet, I 

 thought I might try how she would endure one seated in the 

 saddle. It was a safe enough venture for me, for there were 

 two or three men about who had helped in her capture, and 

 father was at her head. I did not like the glance of her eye as 

 I placed my foot. I sprang into the saddle and stuck, prepared 

 for the worst. But she could not have stood more quietly if she 

 had been made of wood. I walked her up the lane, with her foal 

 trotting by her side, or behind, or in front, and I walked her 

 down again. I walked her about the green, and tried to excite 

 her to a merry prance or two, but no— she was as sober as an 

 old cart-horse. I will confess I felt rather disappointed that she 

 had shown not a spark of the wild devilry that was said to be in 

 her. I got off in disgust. Then I thought I would try a remount 

 alone, she seemed so meek a brute. I had no sooner reached 

 the saddle than she kicked up like a donkey, and trotted off 

 with her beautiful springy step, trying to rub me off against hay- 

 ricks and stable-walls and fence-posts. ' Well,' thought I, ' this 

 is more promising,' and dismounted the first opportunity. 



I shall not trouble you with a detailed account of the wean- 

 ing of that blessed baby : how he was penned into a large stall 

 adjoining that in which his mother was bound, with a great deal 

 of litter strewed deep about the floor and piled high against the 



