'Where are the horses?' he said to
Frostyface.
[Illustration: JACK FROSTY AND CHARLEY SLAPP]
'Just beyond there, my lord,' replied the huntsman, pointing with his whip
to where a cockaded servant was 'to-and-froing' a couple of hunters--a
brown and a chestnut.
'Let's be doing,' said his lordship, trotting up to them and throwing
himself off his hack like a sack. Having divested himself of his muddy
overalls, he mounted the brown, a splendid sixteen-hands horse in tip-top
condition, and again made for the field in all the pride of masterly
equestrianism. A momentary gleam of sunshine shot o'er the scene; a jerk of
the head acted as a signal to throw off, and away they all moved from the
meet.
Thorneybush Gorse was a large eight-acre cover, formed partly of gorse and
partly of stunted blackthorn, with here and there a sprinkling of Scotch
firs. His lordship paid two pounds a year for it, having vainly tried to
get it for thirty shillings, which was about the actual value of the land,
but the proprietor claimed a little compensation for the trampling of
horses about it; moreover, the Puffington men would have taken it at two
pounds.
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