nce adjoining the broad gate which led to the house, gave
a low whistle. A thoroughbred Jersey, feeding some distance away, lifted
her head and listened. Again he whistled, and with soft, slow tread the
cow came towards him and rubbed her nose against his arm. He took her
head between his hands, her clover-laden breath fanning his cheeks, and
looked at the dark muzzle and the large eyes, almost human in their
tenderness.

"Well, Primrose, old lady, you're as dainty as your namesake, and as
sweet. Ah, Sylph, you beauty!" he continued, as a calf like a young fawn
approached the gate, "you can't rest away from your mammy, can you?
Primrose, have you any aspirations, or are you content simply to eat and
drink? You have a good time of it now, but what if you were kicked and
cuffed and starved? You are sensitive, for I saw you shrink and shiver
when Bill Wright,--the scoundrel!--dared to strike you. He'll never do
it again, Prim! Have you the taste of an epicure for the juicy grass
blades and the clover when it is young,--do you love to hear the birds
sing and the brook murmur, and do you enjoy living under the trees and
watching the clouds chase the sunbeams as you chew your cud? Do you
wonder why the cold winter comes and you have to be shut up in a stall
with a different kind of fodder? Do you ever wonder who gave you life
and what you are meant to do with it? How I wish you could talk, old
lady!"

He vaulted over the gate, and whistling to a fine collie who came
bounding to meet him, walked slowly on towards the stables.

"Hulloa, John!" and a boy about two years his junior threw himself off a
horse reeking with foam. "Rub Sultan down a bit like a good fellow.
There'll be the worst kind of a row if the governor sees him in this
pickle."

John Randolph looked indignantly at the handsome horse, as he stood with
drooping head and wide distended nostrils, while the white foam dripped
over his delicate legs.

"Serve you right if there were!" and his voice was full of scorn.
"You're about as fit to handle horseflesh as an Esquimaux."

"Oh, pish! You're a regular old grandmother, John. There's nothing to
make such a row about." And Reginald Hawthorne turned upon his heel.

John threw off coat and vest, and, rolling up his sleeves, led the
exhausted horse to the currying ground. Reginald followed slowly, his
hands in his pockets.

"How did you get him into such a mess?" he asked shortly.

"I don't know, I didn't do any