At the foot of this steep climb one Doctor Courteney Clack met them. He was a plump, genial soul of five-and-forty, and love of sport with lack of ambition combined to anchor him in this remote region. He had little to do and so much the more leisure for rod and horse. But to-day he was walking, and his round, clean-shorn face showed him to be remarkably warm.
"Not at the races, Doctor? How extraordinary!"
"Sheer evil fortune, Miss Endicott. A most inconsiderate young person."
"Mrs. Ford?"
"Exactly so. Nature has no sympathy with sportsmen. Christo is to tell me everything. He also has charge of a five-pound note. So I enjoy the sport in spirit."
Hurried footsteps interrupted the conversation, and a boy was seen running at top speed down the hill.
"It's Tommy Bates from home!" cried Honor. "What on earth does he want to go at that pace for?"
"Me probably," said Doctor Clack. "Nobody ever runs in Little Silver, unless it's to my house."
The medical man was right, and Tommy announced that a labourer had fallen suddenly sick in the hayfield and appeared about to perish.
"Sunstroke for certain," declared the medical man. "If it's not asking too much, Miss Endicott, I would suggest that I borrowed your pony. It will take me up the hill a great deal faster than I can walk, and time may be precious."