“Mr. Murray,” said he, “I understand you have a young horse for sale.”

“I have, sir,” replied Murray; “and a better piece of flesh is not in the country he stands in.”

“Could I see him?”

“Certainly, sir, and try him, too.  He is not flesh and bone at all, sir—­devil a thing he is but quicksilver.  Here, Paudeen, saddle Brien Boro for this gentleman.  You won’t require wings, Mr. Woodward; Brien Boro will show you how to fly without them.”

“Well,” replied Woodward, “trial’s all; but at any rate, I’m willing to prefer good flesh and bone to quicksilver.”

In a few minutes the horse was brought out, saddled and bridled, and Woodward, who certainly was an excellent horseman, mounted him and tried his paces.

“Well, sir,” said Murray, “how do you like him?”

“I like him well,” said Woodward.  “His temper is good, I know, by his docility to the bit.”

“Yes, but you haven’t tried him at a ditch; follow me and I’ll show you as pretty a one as ever a horse crossed, and you may take my word it isn’t every horse could cross it.  You have a good firm seat, sir; and I know you will both do it in sportsman-like style.”

Having reached the ditch, which certainly was a rasper, Woodward reined round the animal, who crossed it like a swallow.

“Now,” said Murray, “unless you wish to ride half a mile in order to get back, you must cross it again.”

This was accordingly done in admirable style, both by man and horse; and Woodward, having ridden him back to the farmyard, dismounted, highly satisfied with the animal’s action and powers.

“Now, Mr. Murray,” said he, “what’s his price?”

“Fifty guineas, sir; neither more nor less.”

“Say thirty and we’ll deal.”

“I don’t want money, sir,” replied the sturdy farmer, “and I won’t part with the horse under his value.  I will get what I ask for him.”

“Say thirty-five.”

“Not a cross under the round half hundred; and I’m glad it is not your mother that is buying him.”

“Why so?” asked Woodward; and his eye darkly sparkled with its malignant influence.

“Why, sir, because if I didn’t sell him to her at her own terms, he would be worth very little in a few days afterwards.”

The observation was certainly an offensive one, especially when made to her son.

“Will you take forty for him?” asked Woodward, coolly.

“Not a penny, sir, under what I said.  You are clearly a good judge of a horse, Mr. Woodward, and I wonder that a gentleman like you would offer me less than I ask, because you cannot but know that it is under his value.”

“I will give no more,” replied Woodward; “so there is an end to it.  Let me see the horse’s eyes.”

He placed himself before the animal, and looked steadily into his eyes for about five minutes, after which he said,—­

“I think, Mr. Murray, you would have acted more prudently had you taken my offer.  I bade you full value for the horse.”