walk.

She was quite at her ease, yet on fire as always, snatching at her bit
in characteristic style. Chukkers rode her with long and easy rein, as
though to show he trusted her. As she came by, the Grand Stand began to
sing with one voice:

_The maid of our mountains--
Mocassin's her name!
The speed of the panther;
The heart of the flame;
The Belle of the Blue Ridge,
The hope of the plain,
The Queen of Kentucky,
O, lift her again--_

Chanted thus by tens of thousands of voices, singing round the course
and up into the heavens, and culminating in the roaring slogan--

_Mocassin! Mocassin! Mocassin!_

the simple song became for the moment clothed in vicarious majesty.

Jim Silver felt the thrill of it, as did his companion.

"Mar'd like that," said Old Mat sentimentally. "She's same as me. She
likes hymns."

The object of the enthusiasm seemed unconscious of it.

She came by at that swift pattering walk of hers--like a girl going
marketing as her lovers said--amid the comments of her admirers.

"She's all right, sure!"

"Don't she nip along?"

"He looks grim, Chukkers do."

"Yes; he's for it this time."

"They've injected her--American style."

"Never!"

"They have, my son. Trust Jaggers. Can't leave it to Nature. Must always
go one better."

"Ikey's got two other horses in."

"Which?"

"There's old Jackaroo--in the purple and gold, Rushton riding."

"Which is the second Dewhurst horse?"

"This in the canary. Flibberty-gibbet. Little Boy Braithwaite."

"He's only a nipper."

"He can ride, though."

"They're to nurse the crack through the squeeze."

"She'll want nursing."

"She's all right if she stands up till Beecher's Brook."

"She'll stand up. Trust Chukkers."

"He's got nothing to beat."

"Only Moonlighter."

"Which _is_ the Irish horse?"

"The gray there. Cerise and white."

"Flashy thing."

"Yes. He'll give no trouble though. Three mile and a half is his limit."

"Here's Gee-Woa, the Yorkshireman."

"Looks an old-fashioned sort."

"He can jump a haystack and stay all day; but he can't get a move on."

"If there's grief enough he might get home, though."

"There's Kingfisher. The West-country crack. Bay and two white ducks."

Last but one came Four-Pound-the-Second with his little fair jockey up.
The horse was so big, and the jockey so small, that a laugh went up as
the pair came by.

"What's this in green