A HUNTSMAN. 147 



Bill was soon installed in the unwonted luxury of a 

 saddle. He was, of course, perfectly well known in the 

 field, and perhaps did not feel quite at ease as he 

 splashed down a muddy lane, past his old foot-com- 

 panions, a few village boys, an assistant earth-stopper, 

 and a once well-known whip who had lost place after 

 place through a drunken disposition, and now, attired 

 in a weather-stained pink, earned occasional sixpences 

 and shillings by opening gates, breaking down rails or 

 removing binders for timid sportsmen, holding horses, 

 and sometimes catching a loose one. 



Sir Henry, riding by, nods to INIaizeley, looks at Bill 

 on his steed, asks the young farmer if that isn't his 

 mare, and tells him to see that the boy doesn't hurt 

 himself; for Bill's exploits are not known beyond the 

 lower grades in the stable and about the home farm. 



As sometimes happens, there was on this day a good 

 deal of unproductive riding to and fro, and the best part 

 of an hour had been thus passed before hounds got 

 away on a hot scent. The chestnut mare could go, and 

 after his experience on Kicking Peggy Bill found sit- 

 ting on her a remarkably pleasant and simple matter. 

 The ease with which the pair of them flew a high post 

 and rail that set more than the best half of the field 

 astonished Sir Henry. 



" Just look at thcit boy on Maizeley's chestnut. He 

 jumped the rails cleaner than anybody. It can't be the 

 lad that's always running after the hounds r " a friend 

 asked. 



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