“Dandy! Dandy, I say! Please stop!” he called.
“Well, Mr. Hay, what’s your will, sir?” the old fellow demanded, turning to face his host.
“You must not walk into the village. Take the dogcart.”
“You are very kind, Mr. Hay, sir; but——”
“I will have my way. Come down with me to the stables. I have not seen them yet. But I know there is a dogcart, because Mr. Walling, who is always wide awake, took a drive in it this morning to get an appetite for his breakfast before we were up,” said Ran, as he turned into a footpath leading through the grounds to the rear of the hall, far behind which were the stables.
Dandy followed him, if the truth is to be told, not unwilling to spare his old limbs by riding instead of walking to the village.
The stable yard occupied full a square quarter acre of ground, walled in by massive stone buildings, consisting of stables proper, carriage houses, harness rooms, coachman’s and groom’s quarters and kennels.
It was full of activity on this morning; for all the fourlegged creatures there, horses and hounds, seemed spoiling for a run, and were venting their impatience of restraint—the horses by neighing and kicking and the hounds by howling and scratching.
“Yo’ ought to have a good hunting party of gentlemen down here for a few weeks, sir, to take the devil out of the brutes,” said the old head groom, touching his hat to his master.
“All in good time—a——Tell me your name.”