man, sir," he said, and stole away on tip-toe.

* * * * *

That evening the old trainer, driving through the village, came on the
discomfited artist and drew up to have a word with him.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" began the old man in his sympathetic
wheeze. "This _is_ a bad job to be sure, Mr. Joses. So that long mare o'
mine had a shot at your pore brain-box. When I heard, I wep' a tear, I
did reelly." He shook a sorrowful head. "You mustn't come no more,
though, Mr. Joses, you mustn't. If anything was to 'appen to you in my
place I should never forgive meself. 'Tain't so much the compensation to
your widows and such. It's _here_"--he thumped his heart--"I'd feel it."

Joses began to make excuse, but the old man refused to be convinced.

"Rogues and rasqueals, Mr. Joses," he cried. "Layin' pitchforks for yer
feet--same as the Psalmist says. Hosses is much the very same as men.
Kilted cattle, as the sayin' is. Once they turn agin' you your number's
up. And they got _somefin'_ agin' you. No fault o' yours, I know--godly
genelman like you. But where it is _there_ it is!" He sat in his buggy
and wiped his dewy eye. "And there's the dorg, Mr. Joses. Big dorg,
too!"

* * * * *

Joses, ejected from Putnam's, as Adam had been from Paradise, might be
the loser; but Art certainly was not.

For he painted abominably.

Even the lads jeered at his efforts, while Old Mat said:

"I reck'n my old pony could do better than that, if I filled her tail
with paint and she sat on it."

But Joses was not to be beaten so easily. Meeting Boy Woodburn in the
village street, he asked her if he might paint Billy Bluff.

The girl, knowing Billy's views on Mr. Joses, excused herself and her
dog.

Joses walked down the village street with her, expostulating.

Mrs. Haggard, the vicar's wife, an austere woman, with a jealously
guardian eye for all the village maidens, met the pair and eyed the girl
severely.

Later in the day she came on Boy alone and stopped her.

"Do you know that man, Joyce?" she asked.

Mrs. Haggard was the one person in the world who called Boy by her
Christian name. And she did it, as she did everything else, on
principle.

"Not really," answered Boy.

"I don't like him," said Mrs. Haggard.

"Neither do I," answered the girl.

"I'm glad to hear it," said the other. "He's _not_ a nice man."

That evening Mrs. Haggard went to see Mrs.