"No," answered John ponderously, "no, Natty Bell, London aren't spiled him, and—why, Barnabas, I'm glad to see ye, lad—yes, I'm—glad, and—and—why, there y'are, Barnabas."
"Looks a bit palish, though, John!" said Natty Bell, shaking his head, "but that's only nat'ral, arter all, yes—a bit palish, p'r'aps, but, man Jack—what o' that?"
"And a bit thinnish, Natty Bell," replied John, "but Lord! a few days and we'll have him as right as—as ever, yes, quite right, and there y' are, Natty Bell!"
"P'r'aps you might be wishful to tell him, John, as you've had the old 'Hound' brightened up a bit?"
"Why, yes, Barnabas," nodded John, "in honor o' this occasion—though, to be sure, the sign would look better for a touch o' paint here and there—the poor old Hound's only got three legs and a tail left, d' ye see—and the hare, Barnabas, the hare—ain't!"
"P'r'aps we'd better take and let him see for hisself, John?"
"Right, Natty Bell, so he shall."
Thus, presently, Barnabas rode on between them down the hill, looking from one to the other, but saying very little, because his heart was so full.
"And this be the 'oss you wrote us about—hey, Barnabas lad?" inquired Natty Bell, stepping back and viewing 'The Terror' over with an eye that took in all his points. "Ha—a fine action, lad—"
'Pray haven't you heard of a jolly young coal-heaver
Who down at Hungerford used for to ply—'