the result of experience, for he had never
met one in the flesh before, but from instinct, conviction, and
knowledge of the race acquired from books. Artists and poets: they were
all alike--dirty beggars, all manners and no morals, who could talk the
hind-leg off a she-ass.

And Silver, being dumb himself and very human, hated men who were
articulate.

He watched the pair walking away from him down the hillside. An
ill-matched couple they seemed to him: the slight, strenuous girl, her
plait of hair like a spear of gold between her shoulders, her slim black
legs, and air of a cold flame; and that loose, fat thing who gave the
young man the impression of a suet pudding that had taken to drink.

The beast seemed disgustingly fatherly, too, rubbing shoulders with the
girl, and fawning on her.

Silver sat down on a log and took out the cigarette-case, which was his
habitual comforter.

The old mare grazed beside him in the dusk, and he began to laugh as he
looked at her. Her laziness tickled and appealed to him. There was
something great about it. She was indolent as was Nature, and for the
same reason--that she was aware of immense reserves of power on which
she could fall back at any moment.

A rabbit came out of the gorse to feed near by. The owl whooped and
swooped and hovered behind her. The sea wind, fresh and crisp, came
blowing up the valley; and the young stock, bursting with the ecstasy of
life, thundered by in the dusk with downward heads and arched backs and
far-flung heels.

Silver sat and smoked.

There was a funny feeling at his heart.

Some vast, deep, silent-running river of Life, of whose presence within
him he had only become aware within the last few hours, had been
thwarted for the moment, thrust back upon itself, and was tugging and
tuzzling within him as it sought to pursue its majestic way toward the
Open Sea.

CHAPTER VIII

The Great Beast

Joses had been haunting the village off and on for some time past.

Boy Woodburn knew nothing of him except that Monkey Brand disliked him.

Herself she had been given no chance of forming an opinion till lately,
when Joses had asked permission of her father to paint some of the
horses. Old Mat had given leave, and Joses had gained the entree to the
stables. He had made the most of his chance, haunting the yard, dogged
by Monkey Brand, who resented his presence, watched him jealously, and
made things as uncomfortable and precarious for