How Barnabas Rode Homewards, and Took Counsel of a Pedler of Books

It was well on in the afternoon when Barnabas, booted and spurred,
stepped out into the sunshine where old Gabriel Martin walked
"The Terror" to and fro before the door.

"Very glad to see you out and about again, sir," said he, beaming of
face and with a finger at his grizzled temple.

"Thank you, Martin."

"And so is the 'oss, sir--look at 'im!" And indeed the great, black
horse had tossed up his lofty crest and stood, one slender fore-leg
advanced and with sensitive ears pricked forward, snuffing at
Barnabas as he came slowly down the steps.

"He doesn't seem to have taken any hurt from the last race we had
together," said Barnabas.

"'Arm, sir--lord, no--not a bit, never better! There's a eye for you,
there's a coat! I tell you, sir, 'e's in the very pink, that 'e is."

"He does you great credit, Martin."

"Sir," said Martin as Barnabas prepared to mount, "sir, I hear as
you ain't thinking of going back to town?"

"To the best of my belief, no, Martin."

"Why, then, sir," said the old groom, his face clouding, "p'r'aps I
'd better be packing up my bits o' traps, sir?"

"Yes, Martin, I think you had," answered Barnabas, and swung himself
somewhat awkwardly into the saddle.

"Very good, sir!" sighed old Martin, his gray head drooping.
"I done my best for the 'oss and you, sir, but I know I'm a bit too
old for the job, p'r'aps, and--"

But at this moment Peterby approached.