“As I was saying,” said the vicar to his friend, “I think he is a perfect little horse. He is quiet, as you see, and I’m not likely to kill him with work. I just go my usual round, but I do like a well-bred horse. He’ll have a very easy time of it with me.” Lele groaned louder than ever.
“We have not stiff hills in this neighbourhood.”
“And life is much the same all the year round.”
“Look here, I can’t stand this. In all the homes I’ve had there’s been something to do. There’s been steeplechasing in Spring—hunting—”
“Why, the hounds are out,” called Mr. Dobson. He was riding a little way in front and could see over the hedge. “See! there’s the whip making for Cranstone Hill! Is he used to following the hounds?”
“I don’t know—he does appear restive. Whoa-a then!”
“Oh, yes, but I haven’t indulged in such things for years.”
“Then you’d better get off—I wouldn’t trust that horse.” But the vicar had no time to get off, and another thing he did not mean to. He meant to stop on.
“It’s my opinion my master is not so simple as he looks,” thought Lele. “He’s been used to spurs he has. What a dig he did give me then. I shall have to try to unsettle him—for he is rather a heavy load to carry, and I mean to follow the hounds—”
“Tally ho!” rang out in the clear morning air as Lele bucked.
But he might have exploded if he liked, nothing short of an earthquake would have disturbed the vicar.
“I say, hold hard there,” yelled Mr. Dobson, “he’ll kill you.”
“You won’t, then, eh!” struck in Lele—“then here goes—” And, like a flash, over the hedge he went—in short, I may tell you he had galloped a field over, cleared a gate, forded a stream, broken through a copse, and then, Tally ho! he was with the hounds, close alongside the whip, and in a few minutes stood with his master, who was perspiring and mopping his face with his handkerchief, abashed at the attention his presence called forth, and stammering his thanks to the master of the hounds who handed him the brush.
“Allow me to congratulate you, good sir,” he said.
“Now, just look here,” interrupted Lele—only nobody noticed him—“that brush belongs to me. I followed the hounds, and as I couldn’t throw the vicar off, of course I had to bring him—much against his will—a fact, I assure you. Just stick that brush behind my ear, please. Why, Kiddy, is that you?”