“Well, this appears to be a grand creature,” stroking the mane.
“Yes, sir,” said the groom.
“I somehow fancied Grahame would choose well. He has a splendid head. Fine bone. Stands well. Splendid flank—got many good points, I notice—he’s not quite as sedate looking as our old pony.”
“Indeed he’s not, sir.”
“Well, we shall see. I’ll take him for a ride.”
And as his master rode away, “He’s a real bad’un that little horse is,” said Hopkins. “A reg’lar bad’un. Bought at a grand Repository, and quiet and sound, warranty says—a real varmint,” says I.
Now as Lele was stepping along, would it not be as well to tell you something of him, children? To begin with, he had been sold several times, changed masters more than once for something worse than disobedience. He was up to all kinds of tricks, could buck, kick, jib, in fact he could perform all manner of naughty tricks—yes, do all except do as he was bid.
So he looked this way and that, snorted, gave a bit of a jerk, just to rouse his new master, and than sighed. “Well, it’s come to a nice thing now,” he grunted, “me—a well-set-up sprightly hunter, knocked down at a sale for thirty pounds! Sold to an old parson. Humph! I’ve seen lots of parsons in the hunting field, but never thought I’d like to live with one. Now I know I shan’t. Wish I hadn’t thrown Lord Jim. Bless me! Changed my walk in life entirely, and however I shall take to being a goody-goody horse I don’t know. Suppose I shall have to eat second-rate oats till I grow old and wheezy.”
A gentleman who was riding along the road stopped to speak to the vicar.
“Hallo!” said Lele to the stranger’s mare. “How do! Fine morning.”