The sharp clatter of quick-trotting horse’s hoofs coming towards them, smote on their ears, and Mrs. Busson started forward with a cry.
“That’s Blackberry,” she said. “I know his trot. That means there’s mischief at home.”
In another minute, the stout black cob, ridden by one of the farm men, came in sight.
“John! John Honybun, what has happened?” shouted Mrs. Busson. “Where are you off to?”
“Doctor,” was the brief reply, whilst John made a clumsy but ineffectual attempt to rein in his flying steed.