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FROM the Nettleton cornstacks to Lawristone Clump was under two miles, and, barring Bendibus Brook, there was nothing formidable in the line—nothing at least to a peaceably disposed man pursuing the even tenor of his way, either on horseback or in his carriage along the deserted London road.
Very different, however, did the landscape now appear to our friend Cuddy Flintoff as he saw it stretching away in diminishing perspective, presenting an alternating course of husbandry stubble after grass, wheat after stubble, seeds after wheat, with perhaps pasture again after fallow. Bendibus, too, as its name indicates, seemed to be here, there, and everywhere; here, as shown by the stone bridge on the road,—there, as marked by the pollard willows lower down—and generally wherever there was an inconvenient breadth and irregularity of fence. The more Mr. Flintoff looked at the landscape, the less he liked it. Still he had a noble horse under him in General Havelock—a horse that could go through deep as fast as he could over grass, and that only required holding together and sitting on to carry him safe over his fences. It was just that, however, that Cuddy couldn’t master. He couldn’t help fancying that the horse would let him down, and he didn’t like the idea.
Mayfly, on the other hand, was rather skittish, and began prancing and capering as soon as he got off the road into the field.
“Get ‘im by de nob! get ‘im by de nob!” cried Jack, setting up his shoulders. “Swing ‘im round by de tail! swing ‘im round by de tail!” continued he, as the horse still turned away from his work.
“Ord dom it, that’s that nasty crazy brute of old Rowley Abingdon’s, I do declare!” exclaimed Sir Moses, getting out of the now plunging horse’s way. “Didn’t know the beggar since he was clipped. That’s the brute that killed poor Cherisher,—best hound in my pack. Take care, Monsieur! that horse will eat you if he gets you off.”
“Eat me!” cried Jack, pretending alarm; “dat vod be vare unkind.”
Sir Moses. “Unkind or not, he’ll do it, I assure you.”
“Oh, dear! oh! dear!” cried Jack, as the horse laid back his ears, and gave a sort of wincing kick.
“I’ll tell you what,” cried Sir Moses, emboldened by Jack’s fear, “I’ll lay you a crown you don’t get over the brook.”