Irene mounted Rupert, and the Squire stood on the steps in front of the hall-door admiring the picture. The horse was a dark brown, nearly black, and stood out prominently against the snowy background. It was a sharp, crisp morning, the atmosphere clear, with a touch of frost in the air, and the sun shone brightly, the snow quivering in the light, glittering like myriads of crystals.
Rupert pawed the gravel in his eagerness to be going, and the Squire remarked, as he shook hands with Irene—
"You must come back as soon as you can. If you find the picture too cumbersome to carry leave it and we will send Bob for it."
"I can strap it on my back, I have a case made for the purpose. I often ride out with my sketching materials strapped on. You would take me for a tramp if you saw me walking about in my artist's costume," said Irene, laughing.
"A remarkably pretty tramp," said the Squire.
"Thanks, I will turn that compliment over in my mind as I ride to the Manor; it will be pleasant company for me."
Rupert set off at a brisk trot. He was at all times a sure-footed horse, and being roughed he had no difficulty in keeping his feet.
Irene's colour rose as the sharp breeze fanned her cheeks, and she was thoroughly enjoying her ride.
She went past the stud farm, and came across Eli Todd, who had been going his rounds.
Next to his runaway daughter, Janet, Eli Todd was devoted to Irene. He had known her from a child, had taught her to ride, and was proud of her accomplishment. He stood admiring her as she rode up.