BILL'S CHANGE. 85 



and though not fast, can go his own pace for ever. He'll 

 wear them down, sh*, never fear." 



"What horse does he remind you of, Daubeney?" said 

 Mr. Dalton. 



Daubeney smiled. " I can tell you the very horse in one 

 guess, sir — Blue Rock. I've got a picture of him at home, 

 and every time my wife looks at him she says, ' Bill, that's 

 the horse that gave you your chance. Bless his old heart ! ' 

 Thanks to that horse and your kindness, sir I've never looked 

 back since. I'm earning a good income now, more than 

 I require to live on, and I've got a good bit put by in invest- 

 ments." 



It is of that horse, who laid the foundation stone of 

 young Daubeney's fortune, that I am about to tell. But 

 before doing so, I might mention that MacGregor won his 

 race cleverly. Laying last, or nearly so, the greater part of 

 the distance, Daubeney found his horses gradually coming 

 back to him, so making a supreme effort a hundred yards 

 from home, which was nobly responded to by the generous 

 animal, he passed the post a half length to the good, the 

 winner of the Didcot Gold Cup with the heaviest weight that 

 had ever been carried to victory in that race. 



The beginning of my story dates back some four years 

 previous to the event mentioned above ; the time an early 

 hour on a bright morning of the dying summer, and the scene 

 a breezy upland. Picture, then, a rolling sea of springy turf 

 extending as far as the eye can reach, the landscape broken 

 by occasional clumps of trees, and by an extensive wood, 

 while here and there one catches the glint of the morning 

 sun on some distant church spire, or a curling wreath of 

 smoke indicates that a household is astir. 



In the foreground of our picture stand three figures, all 

 mounted on horseback ; the elder of the three, a dapper little 

 man with keen grey eyes, a shrewd though not unkindly face. 



