‘Let’s have a look at him,’ replied Mr. Sponge, throwing his right leg over Hercules’ head and sliding from the saddle on to the ground, as if he were alighting from the quietest shooting pony in the world.

All then was hurry, scurry, and scamper to get this second prodigy out.  Presently he appeared.  Multum in Parvo certainly was all that Buckram described him.  A long, low, clean-headed, clean-necked, big-hocked, chestnut, with a long tail, and great, large, flat white legs, without mark or blemish upon them.  Unlike Hercules, there was nothing indicative of vice or mischief about him.  Indeed, he was rather a sedate, meditative-looking animal; and, instead of the watchful, arms’-length sort of way Leather and Co. treated Hercules, they jerked and punched Parvo about as if he were a cow.

Still Parvo had his foibles.  He was a resolute, head-strong animal, that would go his own way in spite of all the pulling and hauling in the world.  If he took it into his obstinate head to turn into a particular field, into it he would be; or against the gate-post he would bump the rider’s leg in a way that would make him remember the difference of opinion between them.  His was not a fiery, hot-headed spirit, with object or reason for its guide, but just a regular downright pig-headed sort of stupidity, that nobody could account for.  He had a mouth like a bull, and would walk clean through a gate sometimes rather than be at the trouble of rising to leap it; at other times he would hop over it like a bird.  He could not beat Mr. Buckram’s men, because they were always on the look-out for objects of contention with sharp spur rowels, ready to let into his sides the moment he began to stop; but a weak or a timid man on his back had no more chance than he would on an elephant.  If the horse chose to carry him into the midst of the hounds at the meet, he would have him in—­nay, he would think nothing of upsetting the master himself in the middle of the pack.  Then the provoking part was, that the obstinate animal, after having done all the mischief, would just set to to eat as if nothing had happened.  After rolling a sportsman in the mud, he would repair to the nearest hay-stack or grassy bank, and be caught.  He was now ten years old, or a leetle more perhaps, and very wicked years some of them had been.  His adventures, his sellings and his returning, his lettings and his unlettings, his bumpings and spillings, his smashings and crashings, on the road, in the field, in single and in double harness, would furnish a volume of themselves; and in default of a more able historian, we purpose blending his future fortune with that of ‘Ercles,’ in the service of our hero Mr. Sponge, and his accomplished groom, and undertaking the important narration of them ourselves.

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CHAPTER IV

LAVERICK WELLS