e given me a false address. Surely, if he lived here,
he would have called for the letter. Why did he tell me to write to
Post-Office, Packworth, if he never meant to call for my letters?

A feeling of vexation crossed my mind, and mingled with the
disappointment I felt at now being sure my journey here was a hopeless
one.

I wandered about the town a bit, in the vague hope of something turning
up. But nothing did. Nothing ever does when a fellow wants it. So I
turned tail, and faced the prospect of a solitary ten-mile walk back to
Brownstroke.

I felt decidedly down. This expedition to Packworth had been a
favourite dream of mine for many months past, and somehow I had never
anticipated there would be much difficulty, could I once get there, in
discovering my friend Smith. But now he seemed more out of reach than
ever. There were my two neglected letters, never called for, and not a
word from him since the day I left Stonebridge House. I might as well
give up the idea of ever seeing him again, and certainly spare myself
the trouble of further search after him.

I was walking on, letters in hand, engaged in this sombre train of
thought, when suddenly, on the road before me, I heard a clatter of
hoofs accompanied by a child's shriek. At the same moment round a
corner appeared a small pony galloping straight towards where I was,
with a little girl clinging wildly round its neck, and uttering the
cries I had heard.

The animal had evidently taken fright and become quite beyond control,
for the reins hung loose, and the little stirrup was flying about in all
directions.

Fortunately, the part of the road where we were was walled on one side,
while the other bank was sloping. I had not had much practice in
stopping runaway horses, but it occurred to me that if I stood right in
the pony's way, and shouted at him as he came up, he might, what with me
in front and the wall and slope on either side, possibly give himself a
moment for reflection, and so enable me to make a grab at his bridle.

And so it turned out. I spread out my arms and yelled at him at the top
of my voice, with a vehemence which quite took him aback. He pulled up
dead just as he reached me, so suddenly, indeed, that the poor child
slipped clean off his back, and then, before he could fling himself
round and continue his bolt in another direction, I had him firmly by
the snaffle.

The little girl, who may have been twelve or thirteen, wa