stature had come a listlessness and languor which troubled
Lady Calmady. The boy was sweet-tempered enough, had his hours, indeed,
of overflowing fun and high spirits. Still he was restless and tired
easily of each occupation in turn. He developed a disquieting relish
for solitude; and took to camping-out on one of the broad window-seats
of the Long Gallery, in company with volumes of Captain Cook's and
Hakluyt's voyages, old-time histories of sport and natural history; not
to mention Robinson Crusoe and the merry but doubtfully decent pages of
Geoffrey Gambado. And his mother noted, not without a sinking of the
heart, that the window-seat, which in his solitary moods Dickie most
frequented, was precisely that one of the eastern bay which
commanded--beyond the smooth, green expanse and red walls of the
troco-ground--a good view of the grass ride, running parallel with the
lime avenue, along which the horses from the racing stables were taken
out and back, morning and evening, to the galloping ground. Then fears
began to assail Katherine that the boy's childhood, the content and
repose of it, were nearly past. Small wonder that her heart should
sink!

On the day of her brother's return, Katherine, after rather anxious
search, so found Richard. He was standing on the book-strewn
window-seat. He had pushed open the tall narrow casement and leaned
out. The April afternoon was fitfully bright. A rainbow spanned the
landscape, from the Long Water in the valley to the edge of the forest
crowning the table-land. Here and there showers of rain fell, showing
white against huge masses of purple cloud piled up along the horizon.

And as Katherine drew near, threading her way carefully between the
Chinese cabinets, oriental jars, and many quaint treasures furnishing
the end of the great room, she saw that, along the grass ride, some
twenty race-horses, came streeling homeward in single file--a long line
of brown, chestnut, black, and of the raw yellows and scarlets of
horse-clothing against the delicate green of springing turf and opening
leaves. Beside them, clad in pepper-and-salt mixture, breeches and
gaiters complete, Mr. Chifney pricked forward soberly on his handsome
gray cob. The boys called to one another now and then, admonished a
fretful horse breaking away from the string. One of them whistled
shrilly a few bars of that then popular but undistinguished tune, "Pop
goes the weazel." And Richard craned far out, steadying hi