“Why, there’s somebody coming,” he cried, as he sheltered his eyes to make out what was evidently a mounted man moving slowly along the road. “He’s coming this way,” said Fred, musingly. “I wonder who it is?”
Not much of a matter for consideration, in modern days; but to the dwellers in that retired part of Coombeland, far away from a town, the coming of a strange horseman was an event, and, regardless of where he put his feet, Fred went on trying to keep the mounted man in view, as he disappeared at times in the hollows, and then came into sight again, evidently moving at a foot’s pace.
“It must be Captain Miles coming back,” cried Fred, as the figure disappeared from view in consequence of the lad having to descend into a hollow before rising the opposite hill.
“That old place will be no end of a game when we have cleared it out,” mused the boy, as he went slowly down the hill. “It will be a lot of trouble though, and we shall have to sweep and clear away the dust and cobwebs too. I wish we could set Samson and Nat to work, only we can’t do that, because, if we did, it wouldn’t be a secret place; and, besides, they would do nothing but quarrel, and get no work done. Wonder whether brothers always do quarrel. Why, they’re worse than Scar and I are, though we do have a pretty good row sometimes.”
Ten minutes later he was mounting the hill, and, as he reached the top, he hastened his pace, so as to get within view of the coming horseman, who was for the moment shut out from view by a patch of woodland; but the regular beat of the horse’s hoofs came plainly enough.
“Sounds in the distance just like my pony’s trot,” said Fred, thoughtfully; and directly after he burst out with a loud, “Oh!” full of vexation in its tone. “Why, it’s only old Samson, after all,” he cried. “Think of me taking him for Captain Miles!”
He set off at a sharp run across the moorland, so as to cut off a great piece of the road, and reach a point by which the Manor gardener must pass.
Samson was not long in recognising him, and, checking the speed of the stout cob he rode, the mutual effort brought the two together at the sought-for spot.
“Here you, Samson, who told you to exercise my pony?”
“Exercise, Master Fred? You look at him.”