"All right!" said the little beggar, conceding the point, and away we started once more.
"Gee-up, Charlie!" he cried; "gee-up, good horse! Now then!" as we approached the arm-chair; "now then, now then, it's time for you to break your leg. Quick, quick!"
"All right!" I said, and with the most heartrending groan I could produce, I sank—carefully—into the chair. At the same moment the door opened, and a stranger to me entered the room—a tall and soldier-like-looking young man. Even in the dimness of the twilight I could see a strong enough resemblance to the little beggar to tell me who he was without his delighted scream of "Uncle Godfrey! Uncle Godfrey!" as he ran and clasped him round the knees.
"Hold on!" answered Uncle Godfrey, putting him aside.
Then turning to me:
"I fear you are ill. Shall I send for my mother's maid?" he asked with polite sympathy.
"Why, no; she isn't; she isn't a bit ill!" cried the little beggar delightedly, with peals of derisive laughter, as he jumped about and clapped his hands. "She's only a poor, old, lame horse, what has just fallen down and broken his leg...."