“Which? those on the run or in the stable?”
“On the run?”
“Yes. They’re miles away, and you’d want to ride.”
“Well, in the stable.”
“This way, then; but won’t you come and see my garden first? I’ve got real apple trees a-growing.”
“I’ll see the garden after. I want to look how Sour Sorrel is.”
“Fresh as a daisy, sir.”
“I want to feed him.”
“You should have got up sooner, Mister Nic. I fed the horses more’n hour ago, and rubbed ’em down. Do you like Sorrel?” said Samson, showing his teeth.
“Like him!” cried Nic, with a voice intense in its appreciation.