flower. An oriole in the orchard, freed from summer cares, poured forth the swinging sweetness of his song. The matted foliage of the old strawberry beds was filmed by innumerable glistening cobwebs, and, here and there, the redness of late strawberries caught the eye.
Darby had had a bad night. Nothing that Hugh could do for him had been enough to make him forget the strangeness of his new surroundings. He had refused his supper; he had refused his drink of fresh spring water. Perhaps some odour of the Welsh ponies had clung to the pail, for he had picked it up disgustingly in his teeth and hurled it to the floor. When Hugh had made him a thick bed of clean straw, he had kicked it out into the passage and slept on the bare boards. Consequently Derek had had to give him a thorough grooming this morning.
Now he picked his way petulantly among the fallen walnuts on the drive, puzzled and irritated by this stranger on his back who pressed a firm leg on either of his sides. He leapt sideways through the gate, he tripped sideways down the slope; sideways, with stampings of his polished hoofs, he crossed the bridge. With quivering nostrils he sniffed a field of clover, aftermath of one of the grain crops, then, suddenly, he smelled and saw his own stable-yard. In spite of Derek he would have plunged through the gateway, but the figure of Hobbs barred his way.
"You're out early," said Hobbs. "I suppose you were impatient to try your new horse. Well, you are welcome to him, for he's an ugly devil if ever there was one."
"You're early yourself," replied Derek over his shoulder.
"It's a fact," said Hobbs. "I never went to bed last night. Just excited. Not that I was"
"Good-bye!" shouted Derek, for Darby was galloping furiously up the road.
The blinds of the cottage were drawn. It was half-hidden
