112 THE LIFE OF A RACEHORSE. 



elms, above wliicli the rooks hoarsely caw and wheel, the crooked 

 chimneys of an imposing mansion sent forth thick columns oi 

 black curling smoke. For long, long years, they were but cozy 

 nooks for the owl, the bat, and the jackdaw. 



" You didn't win the Leger, my bo-o-oy," observes Eobert 

 Top, for it is the head of that distinguished family older grown ; 

 *' but you could ha' won it," continues he, fondly stroking the 

 neck of the horse. "Sir Digby knew so at the time; /" — he 

 taps the button of the white linen jacket just below the gold 

 horseshoe — "knew so: John Sellusall and Ned knew so;" and 

 adding something far from complimentary to the reputation of 

 the last two mentioned individuals, Robert Top makes and 

 attempt to dive his hands deeper still into the pockets of his 

 breeches. 



" Knocked out o' time though, as Sir Digby was," resumed 

 he, " lies all right now," and as he speaks he jerks the badger- 

 pied cap in the direction of where the crooked chimneys are 

 jetting forth thick columns of black curling smoke. " You're 

 all right," continues the head of head grooms, rubbing a cheek 

 against the velvet nose of the horse; "and /'m all right. 

 What a blessiu' it is to be all right !" exclaims Robert Top, 

 glancing at the clear sky immediately above his head, and 

 piously concluding the sentence by " thanking God for it." 



And thus beneath the tree where he was first seen by the 

 side of his dam, we will leave, in the happy, contented sunset 

 of life. Sheet Anchor. 



THE END. 



Woodfall and Kinder, Printers, Milford Lane, Strand, London, W.C, 



