CHAPTER XI, 



AFTER THE RUN. 



That grand run was eventful in more ways than one. 

 About half-way through it, our friend Travers, finding himself 

 left in sole possession of the ploughed field he was then gently 

 blobbing over (under the full impression that his horse was 

 galloping his hardest) thought the time had arrived when he 

 could venture to pull up, and get out of any more of the day's 

 business with safety to himself, and a certain amount of glory 

 to his reputation. The new purchase from Cutaway Mount 

 had certainly proved himself a very safe conveyance, and, as 

 Binkie had asked him to do no more than canter along and 

 scramble over gaps, with here and there a small place which 

 had to be jumped, his rider had contrived to go through the 

 day pretty comfortably. Having then definitely given up the 

 chase, he managed to find a path which led him on to the 

 main turnpike, and an opportune sign-post at the cross-roads 

 a little farther on told him that by following his nose for a 

 little over eight miles he would arrive safely at the paternal 

 mansion. 



Before he had got half-way through the journey he was 

 overtaken by Sir Tommy. That gentleman's hat looked like 

 a concertina, the back and one arm of his coat were plastered 

 with reddish clay, whilst his once white breeches were now 



