A SPARP SPOETSMAN. 93 



a few seconds was over the fence beyond, gallop- 

 ing after the tail horseman. 



Fearstone was out of it for the day, and his 

 patient recovering a little after a time, he got 

 on his back ; and, trembling with rage, walked 

 and trotted towards the deceptive blacksmith's 

 shop. The man of metal was working merrily 

 away at a blazing forge. He looked up quietly 

 at his furious customer, who, it may be remarked, 

 had all his horses shod at a farm on the estate. 



" Look here, sir. This is a nice sort of brute 

 you sold me for ninety pounds ! What do you 

 mean by letting me in for such a brute ? He's 

 got heart disease, stopped dead and nearly dropped 

 after going half a mile ! Ninety pounds ! He's 

 not worth ninety pence ! " Fearstone cried. 



The smith did not seem in the least astonished. 



'' Very sorry, my lord, I'm sure ; but really I 

 don't know much about the horse. I know that 

 tvas a good one I offered your lordship the other 

 day. I paid fifty-five golden sovereigns for him, 

 as I told you, but I guessed there was something 

 wrong about that one," he added, with a nod 

 towards the big bay on which " the sharp " sat 

 at the door of the forge. " I gave eight pounds 

 for he ! " 



Fearstone's indignation rendered him speech- 

 less. But what was he to do ? The man had in 



