owever
startling; therefore Mr. Crop, doing violence to his feelings, moved
not a muscle of his countenance.

"I'm sorry to part with them, Crop," added Dick, a little put out by
the silence of his retainer, and not knowing exactly what to say next.
"They've carried me very well--I've seen a deal of fun on them--I
don't suppose I shall ever have such good ones--I don't suppose I
shall ever hunt much again."

Mr. Crop began to thaw. "They're _good_ 'osses," he observed
sententiously; "but that's not to say as there isn't good 'osses
elsewheres. In regard of not huntin' there's a many seasons, askin'
your pardon, atween you and me, and I should be sorry to think as I
wasn't goin' huntin', ay, twenty years from now! When is 'em goin' up,
sir?" added he, sinking sentiment and coming to business at once.

"Monday fortnight," answered Dick, entering a loose box, in which
stood a remarkably handsome mare, that neighed at him, and rubbed her
head against his breast.

"I should ha' liked another ten days," replied Crop, for it was an
important part of his system never to accept his master's arrangements
without a protest. "I could ha' got 'em to show as they ought to show
by then. Is the stalls took?"

Dick nodded. He was looking wistfully at the mare, thinking what a
light mouth she had, and how boldly she faced water.

"That leg'll be as clean as my face in a week," observed Mr. Crop
confidently. "She'll fetch a good price, _she_ will. Sir Frederic's
after _her_, I know. There's nothing but tares in there, sir; old
Dandybrush is in the box on the right."

Dick gave the mare a loving pat, and turned sadly into the residence
of old Dandybrush.

That experienced animal greeted him with laid-back ears and a grin, as
though to say, "Here you are again! But I like you best in your red
coat."

They had seen many a good gallop together, and rolled over each other
with the utmost good-humour, in every description of soil. To look at
the old horse, even in his summer guise, was to recall the happiest
moments of a sufficiently happy life.

"I'd meant to guv it _him_ pretty sharp," said Crop; "but I'll let him
alone now. He'd 'a carried you, maybe, another season or two, with a
good strong dressin'; but them legs isn't what they _was_. Last
time as I rode of him second horse, I found him different--gettin'
inquisitive at his places--and when they gets inquisitive they soon
begins to get slow. You'll look at the Vampire 'oss,