ad predicted the greatness of the next day was not that the
noted horses already present were entered for the race, but much more
because he had received a letter from one whom he sometimes spoke of as
"one of his childern," and sometimes as "one of his young
masters"--a grandson of his old master, Colonel Theodoric Johnston of
Bullfield--telling him that he was going to bring one of his horses,
a colt his grandfather had given him, and try for the big steeplechase
stake.

Old Robin had arranged the whole matter for him, and was now awaiting
him, for he had written that he could not get there until late in the
day before the race, as he had to travel by road from the old place.

Though old Robin let no one know of his uneasiness, he was watching now
with great anxiety, for the sun was sinking down the western sky toward
the green bank of trees beyond the turn into the home stretch, and in an
hour more the entries would be closed.

While he waited he beguiled the time with stories about his old master's
stable, and about the equine "stars" that shone in the pedigree of this
horse.

Colonel Johnston's fortune had gone down with the close of the war, and
when his stable was broken up he had recommended his old trainer to one
of his friends and had placed him with a more fortunate employer.

Robin had not seen his old master's grandson for years--not since he was
a little boy, when Robin had left home--and he pictured him as a dashing
and handsome young gentleman, such as he remembered his father before
him. As to the horse, not Sir Archy himself had been greater. Robin
talked as though he had had the handling of him ever since he was
dropped; and he ran over a pedigree that made the boys about him open
their wicked eyes.

Just then a stable-boy discerned out on the highway across the field a
rider, coming along at a swinging trot that raised the dust and shot it
in spurts before him.

"Yonder he come now!" cried the urchin, with a grimace to attract the
attention of the crowd. They looked in the direction indicated, and then
in' chorus began to shout. Old Robin turned and glanced indifferently
down the road. The next instant he wheeled and his black hand made a
clutch at the boy, who dodged behind half a dozen others as a shout of
derisive laughter went up from the throng. What Robin saw was only a
country lad jogging along on a big raw-boned, blazed-faced horse, whose
hipbones could be seen even at that distance.