He opened his eyes and looked round.
His bed was laid in the open, and he drew aside the curtains of his net to get a better view.
A little man was walking briskly toward him along the velvet stretch of grass that sloped down from the glade, and Mainward whistled.
"Atty," he gasped. "By all that's wonderful."
Atty, indeed, it was: the same wizened Atty as of yore; but no longer pulling the long face to which Mainward had been accustomed. The little man was in his white riding-breeches, his diminutive top-boots were splashed with mud, and on the crimson of his silk jacket there was evidence of a hard race. He touched his cap jerkily with his whip, and shifted the burden of the racing saddle he carried to the other arm.
"Why, Atty," said Mainward, with a smile, "what on earth are you doing here?"
"It's a short way to the jockey's room, sir," said the little man. "I've just weighed in. I thought the Fairy would do it, sir, and she did."
Mainward nodded wisely. "I knew she would, too," he said.
"Did she give you a smooth ride?"
The jockey grinned again. "She never does that," he said. "But she ran gamely enough. Coming up out of the Dip, she hung a little, but I showed her the whip, and she came on as straight as a die. I thought once the Stalk would beat us—I got shut in, but I pulled her round, and we were never in difficulties. I could have won by ten lengths," said Atty.