his wont or knowledge was Gray Robin that day, though I
think myself he had his own suspicions of it even in his dreams. For when
he got fully awake, and took to looking at himself, and found out by
degrees how very fine he was, he felt shy and awkward, and shook himself so
vigorously that bits of his finery fell off. For, you see, Uncle George,
knowing what was right and proper under the circumstances, and throwing
himself into the matter because it was for me, had brought all his skill
into play. He had fished out a length of old net from his stores, and
turned it to great account. He had draped it in folds over Gray Robin's
broad flanks, and brought it round his chest, and wherever the threads
would hold a stem he had stuck in red and white and yellow roses, and had
tied bunches of them at his ears and along his bridle, so that the steady
old horse looked like an ancient charger in his armour.

And as I watched him examining into all these things I could see his wonder
grow, and he asked himself what, in the name of Hay, his friends and
acquaintances would think of it all when they saw him, and he snuffled with
disgust.

It was close upon six o'clock when Gray Robin pricked up his ears at sound
of hoofs in the lane between the high hedges, and young Torode rode up on
Black Boy. He drew rein sharply at sight of me, and a curse jerked out of
him. And at sight of Gray Robin in his gay trappings, Black Boy danced on
his hind legs and pretended to be frightened out of his wits.

Torode brought him to reason with a violent hand, and flung himself off
with a black face.

"How then, Carre?" he broke out. "Mademoiselle promised to ride with me
to-day."

"And with me also. So she said she would ride half the day with each of
us."

"But, nom-de-dieu, what is the good of that? There is no sense in it."

"It is her wish."

He flogged a gorse bush angrily with a switch he had cut for Black Boy's
benefit, and looked more than half inclined to fling himself back on to his
horse and ride away, which would have been quite to my taste. Black Boy
watched him viciously, with white gleams in his eyes, and winced at sound
of the switch.

But before Torode had made up his mind, Jeanne Falla's sharp voice called
from the gate, "Now then, you two, the coffee's getting cold. Come in and
eat while you have the chance."

Coffee never tastes so good as just after morning watch, and I turned in at
once, while young Torode proceeded to