Like the old English squire of Belton, his father had been, though a popular man with all his friends, and brother fox-hunters especially, and a boon companion too—one that had a dignity that was his from nature rather than effort, but was 'a man who, in fact, did little or nothing in the world—whose life had been very useless, but who had been gifted with such a presence that he looked as though he were one of God's noblest creatures. Though always dignified, he was ever affable, and the poor liked him better than they might have done had he passed his time in searching out their wants and supplying them.' Though little of eleemosynary aid is ever required or looked for by the manly, self-reliant, and independent peasantry of Scotland.
'You have some good nags here,' said Roland, as he walked through the stables. 'I shall want two or three for the saddle in a day or two.'
The old groom shook his head and chewed a straw viciously.
'I should like a spin on this one—a pretty roan hunter.'
'Yes; he's about sixteen hands high, a bonnie wee head, full chest and barrel, broad i' the loins, and firm of foot.'
'The very nag for me, Johnnie.'
'But you can't have him, Maister Roland,' said the groom, forgetting the lapse of years.
'Why?'
'That is Mr. Hawkey Sharpe's favourite saddle horse.'
'Oh—indeed—this mare, then?'