ut into a gallant stride, started on
the long descent towards Troy at a pace that sent the night air
whizzing by Gunner Sobey's ears. Past Carneggan she thundered, past
Tredudwell; and thence, swinging off into the road for the Little
Ferry, still down hill by Lanteglos Vicarage, by Ring of Bells, to
the ford of Watergate in the valley bottom, where now a bridge
stands; but in those days the foot-passengers crossed by a plank and
a hand-rail. Splashing through the ford and choosing unguided the
road which bore away to the right from the silent smithy, and steeply
uphill to Whiddycross Common, she took it gamely though with fast
failing breath. She had been foaled in Troy parish, and marvellously
she was proving, after thirty years (her age was no less), the mettle
of her ancient pasture. While he owned her, Gunner Sobey--who in
extra-military hours traded as a carrier and haulier between Troy and
the market-towns to the westward--had worked her late and fed her
lean; but the most of us behold our receding youth through a mist of
romance, and it may be that old worn-out Pleasant conceived herself
to be cantering back to fields where the grass grew perennially sweet
and old age was unknown. At any rate, she earned her place this
night among the great steeds of romance--Xanthus, Bucephalus,
Harpagus, Black Auster, Sleipnir and Ilderim, Bayardo and
Brigliadoro, the Cid's Babieca, Dick Turpin's Black Bess; not to
mention the two chargers, Copenhagen and Marengo, whom Waterloo was
yet to make famous. As she mounted the last rise by Whiddycross
Green her ribs were heaving sorely, her breath came in short quick
coughs, her head lagged almost between her bony knees; but none the
less she held on down the steep hill, all strewn with loose stones,
to the ferry slip; and there, dropping her haunches, slid, checked
herself almost at the water's edge, and stood quivering.

Billy Bates, the ferryman at Little Ferry, had heard the clatter of
hoofs, and tumbled out to unchain his boat; a trifling matter for
him, since he habitually slept in his clothes.

"Hallo!" said he, holding his lantern high and taking stock of the
gunner's regimentals. "I allowed you'd be a messenger from Sir
Felix. They tell me her leddyship is expectin'."

"I pity her then," gasped Gunner Sobey, and waved an arm. "Man, the
French be landed, an' the country's ablaze!"

Billy Bates set down his lantern on the slip and ran two trembling
hands through