This was an opening that did not fail to command Mr. Batchel’s attention. “What is it?” he said.
“I had my mare in Frenchman’s Meadow,” replied the man, “and Sam Bower come and told me last night as he heard her gallopin’ about when he was walking this side the hedge.”
“But what about Richpin?” said Mr. Batchel.
“Let me come to it,” said the other. “My mare hasn’t got no wind to gallop, so I up and went to see to her, and there she was sure enough, like a wild thing, and Tom Richpin walking across the meadow.”
“Was he chasing her?” asked Mr. Batchel, who felt the absurdity of the question as he put it.
“He was not,” said the man, “but what he could have been doin’ to put the mare into that state, I can’t think.”
“What was he doing when you saw him?” asked Mr. Batchel.
“He was walking along looking for something he’d dropped, with his trousers all tore to ribbons, and while I was catchin’ the mare, he made off.”
“He was easy enough to find, I suppose?” said Mr. Batchel.