Horses were scarce and dear when I went to Aldington, and many French animals were being imported.  I got an old acquaintance in the South of England to send me four or five; they were all greys, useful workers, but wanting the spirit and stamina of the English horse; and they would always wait for the Englishman to start a heavy standing load before throwing their weight into the collar.  Jim told me that they were “desperate ongain” (very awkward), and, as foreigners, well they might be, for I myself had some difficulty in understanding the local words of command, more especially in ploughing, when, with a team of four, he shouted his orders, addressing the new horses by names with which they were quite unfamiliar.

I admired Jim’s loyalty to his late master, if not his veracity, at the valuation of the stock, which I took over as it stood.  Being aware that there was a lame one or two among the horses, I warned my valuer beforehand.  We entered the stable, and my valuer, thinking to catch Jim off his guard, asked casually which they were.  Jim was quite ready for him, and answered without a moment’s hesitation, “Nerrun, sir” (never a one).  They were, however, easily detected when trotted out on the road.

Jim was a capital hand at “getting up” a horse for sale; an extra sack or two of corn, constant grooming, and rest in the stable, with the aid of some mysterious powders, which, I think, contained arsenic, soon brought out the “dapples,” which he called “crown-pieces,” on their coats, and in a couple of months’ time one scarcely recognized the somewhat angular beast upon which his labours had wrought a miracle, and put a ten-pound note at least on the value.  We had an ancient and otherwise doubtful mare, “Bonny,” ready for Pershore Fair, and the previous day Jim wanted to know if I intended to be present.  I told him, “No!  I should have to tell too many lies.”  “Oh!” said he, “I’ll do all that, sir!” He sold the mare to a big dealer for all she was worth, I think, though not a large figure.  Soon afterwards I had to expostulate with him about some fault.  He explained the circumstances from his point of view, adding, “And that’s the truth, sir, and the truth is the truth, and”—­triumphantly—­“that’s what’ll carry a man through the world!” I could say no more, but could not help remembering his willingness to testify to Sonny’s doubtful merits at Pershore Fair.

Jim became a widower, but eventually married again; a good woman, who made a capital wife.  Shortly before the wedding, when he came to see me on some business, my wife happened to be present; she was very anxious to find out the date in order that we might attend.  Jim was shy, not wishing it to be generally known, and nothing could be got out of him.  On leaving, however, he repented and, looking back over his shoulder, made the announcement, “Our job comes off next Thursday,” then closing the door quickly, he was gone.

He got my permission to visit his mother and son, both ailing in Birmingham, and on his return I made inquiries.  The boy was better, but about his mother he said, “I don’t take so much notice of she, for her be regular weared out”—­not unkindly or undutifully intended, but just a plain statement of fact, simply put; for she was a very old woman, and could not in the course of nature be expected to live much longer.