ese
parts. Anywheres between Warwick an' Birming'am a native can't 'ardly
pass a canal-boat without wantin' to arsk, ''Oo stole the rabbit-skin?'
I don't know why they arsk it; but when it 'appens, you've got to fight
the man--or elst _I_ must."

"I would suggest that, you being the younger man--"

"Well, I don't mind," said Sam. "On'y the p'int is I don't scarcely
never fight without attractin' notice. The last time 'twas five
shillin' an' costs or ten days. An' there's the children to be
considered."

During this debate Tilda and Arthur Miles had wandered ashore with
'Dolph, and the dog, by habit inquisitive, had headed at once for a
wooden storehouse that stood a little way back from the waterside--
a large building of two storeys, with a beam and pulley projecting from
the upper one, and heavy folding-doors below. One of these doors stood
open, and 'Dolph, dashing within, at once set up a frantic barking.

"Hullo!" Tilda stepped quickly in front of the boy to cover him.
"There's somebody inside."

The barking continued for almost half a minute, and then Godolphus
emerged, capering absurdly on his hind legs and revolving like a
dervish, flung up his head, yapped thrice in a kind of ecstasy, and
again plunged into the store.

"That's funny, too," mused Tilda. "I never knew 'im be'ave like that
'cept when he met with a friend. Arthur Miles, you stay where you
are--" She tiptoed forward and peered within. "Lord sake, come an'
look 'ere!" she called after a moment.

The boy followed, and stared past her shoulder into the gloom.
There, in the centre of the earthen floor, wrapped around with straw
bands, stood a wooden horse.

It was painted grey, with beautiful dapples, and nostrils of fierce
scarlet. It had a tail of real horse-hair and a golden mane, and on its
near shoulder a blue scroll with its name _Kitchener_ thereon in letters
of gold. Its legs were extended at a gallop.

"Gavel's!" said Tilda. "Gavel's, at ten to one an' no takers! . . . But
why? 'Ow?"

She turned on 'Dolph, scolding, commanding him to be quiet; and 'Dolph
subsided on his haunches and watched her, his stump tail jerking to and
fro beneath him like an unweighted pendulum. There was a label attached
to the straw bands. She turned it over and read: _James Gavel,
Proprietor, Imperial Steam Roundabouts, Henley-in-Arden. Deliver
Immediately_ . . . "An' me thinkin' Bill 'ad gone north to
Wolver'ampton!" she breathed.

Be