162 Seventy Years a Master. 



'' I'll show purses with you," he repeated, 

 jangling the money in his bag, and holding it 

 up in my face. Then the spirit of mischief 

 seized me. I looked at his horse, and I knew 

 my mare could gallop, and could give him a 

 burst. 



"I can't show purses with you to-day," I 

 said, ''but I can give you a run for your 

 money." With that I whipped away his bag 

 of money, and setting spurs to my mare, 

 galloped for all she was worth across the 

 Common. The farmer came thundering after 

 me. 



'' Hi 1 hi ! Stop thief ! Stop thief ! Stop 

 him ! Stop him ! He's got my purse ! " he 

 shouted at the top of his voice, although there 

 was no trace of anybody in sight of us. I 

 pulled up at last, and waited for the old man 

 to arrive. 



" Here's your purse, old friend," I said, 

 " and I don't think you will find any of your 

 money is missing. But I hope this little lark 

 will remind you not to brag about your money 

 in future." 



