“I think you’re getting him too fine.  I’m sure Scott’ll say so.”

“Don’t mind him, my lord.  He’s not like one of those English cats, with jist a dash of speed about ’em, and nothing more—­brutes that they put in training half a dozen times in as many months.  Thim animals pick up a lot of loose, flabby flesh in no time, and loses it in less; and, in course, av’ they gets a sweat too much, there’s nothin left in ’em; not a hapoth.  Brien’s a different guess sort of animal from that.”

“Were you going to have him out, Grady?”

“Why, we was not—­that is, only just for walking exercise, with his sheets on:  but a canter down the half mile slope, and up again by the bushes won’t go agin him.”

“Well, saddle him then, and let Pat get up.”

“Yes, my lord”; and Brien was saddled by the two men together, with much care and ceremony; and Pat was put up—­“and now, Pat,” continued Grady, “keep him well in hand down the slope—­don’t let him out at all at all, till you come to the turn:  when you’re fairly round the corner, just shake your reins the laste in life, and when you’re halfway up the rise, when the lad begins to snort a bit, let him just see the end of the switch—­just raise it till it catches his eye; and av’ he don’t show that he’s disposed for running, I’m mistaken.  We’ll step across to the bushes, my lord, and see him come round.”

Lord Ballindine and the managing man walked across to the bushes accordingly, and Pat did exactly as he was desired.  It was a pretty thing to see the beautiful young animal, with his sleek brown coat shining like a lady’s curls, arching his neck, and throwing down his head, in his impatience to start.  He was the very picture of health and symmetry; when he flung up his head you’d think the blood was running from his nose, his nostrils were so ruddy bright.  He cantered off in great impatience, and fretted and fumed because the little fellow on his back would be the master, and not let him have his play—­down the slope, and round the corner by the trees.  It was beautiful to watch him, his motions were so easy, so graceful.  At the turn he answered to the boy’s encouragement, and mended his pace, till again he felt the bridle, and then, as the jock barely moved his right arm, he bounded up the rising ground, past the spot where Lord Ballindine and the trainer were standing, and shot away till he was beyond the place where he knew his gallop ordinarily ended.  As Grady said, he hadn’t yet been stretched; he had never yet tried his own pace, and he had that look so beautiful in a horse when running, of working at his ease, and much within his power.

“He’s a beautiful creature,” said Lord Ballindine, as he mournfully reflected that he was about to give up to Dot Blake half the possession of his favourite, and the whole of the nominal title.  It was such a pity he should be so hampered; the mere eclat of possessing such a horse was so great a pleasure; “He is a fine creature,” said he, “and, I am sure, will do well.”