"You've bought two," said the mother slowly.
"D'you think so?" cried the girl.
"Sure," muttered the old man. "One thing, if they claim her, they can't claim her foal, too." He grunted in his wife's ear: "Chap said she's in foal to Berserker. Likely tale, ain't it? Howsoebber, if 'tain't true, don't make no matter; if 'tis, all the better. Anyways, she might throw a winner, plea' Gob in his goodness."
Mrs. Woodburn held up a warning finger at him.
"Now, dad!" she said; then turned to her daughter.
"Turn her out in the Paddock Close for the present," she said. "And send one of the lads for Mr. Silver's pony."
The girl led the old mare away into the yard. Jim Silver followed slowly.