The Leather Plater. 297 



I did not care to look him over j I meant buying. I knew old 

 John Harrison would not deceive me, and I had not forgotten 

 what the stud-groom had said about his value. So I merely asked, 

 " What's his price ?" 



" Eighty," was the curt reply. 



" Guineas or pounds ?" 



"It was guineas last winter, but I'll take pounds now. I've 

 got another coming on, and one's as much as I can look after 

 now." 



" I'll have him," I said. " I suppose you warrant him ?" 



" Yes ; he's never had anything the matter with him in his life 

 that I know on." 



We left the stable without another word 5 and this is how the 

 bay colt out of Plover became mine at exactly the same price I 

 had got for my brown horse. 



On the road up to the house for the old fellow was obliged to 

 ask me in to settle I told him I supposed it would do if I gave 

 him ten pounds to bind the bargain, and left my cheque for the 

 remainder, which I would cash the next day when the colt was 

 delivered. He was perfectly satisfied. We had now reached the 

 back door, and he pushed me into his kitchen, with " Never mind 

 your boots," seeing that I was looking about for a scraper or mat 

 to rub them on. We walked through the kitchen into the little 

 parlour beyond, in which sat two persons who deserve a passing 

 notice. The one was a slim, handsome, pale-faced young man of 

 about twenty, who sat propped up by pillows in an easy-chair 

 before the fire, his head bandaged up, and his right arm in splints 

 and a sling. The other was a girl about nineteen, who was sitting 

 working at a small table by the window. The room was neat and 

 clean enough, giving evidence of a woman's care ; the furniture 

 massive, old-fashioned, and simple j and the only ornaments in 

 the room were a vase filled with violets, primroses, and snowdrops 

 on the table, and a portrait of old Plover suspended over the 

 mantel-piece. An open piano stood at the end of the room. All 

 these I took in at a glance. 



