His host, making desperate efforts at self-control, said, at length, in a broken voice, ‘My dear fellow! you mustn’t mind these young people. I’m afraid they are laughing at a little mistake you must have made as to our clergyman’s degree in equestrianism. But are we sure of our man—did you learn his name?’
‘He gave me his card,’ said Ernest, now shuddering under the consciousness of having, perhaps, again buried himself in a pitfall in this provoking happy hunting-ground, ‘but I never looked at it. Here it is—“The Rev. Egbert Heatherstone.”’
Here the second young lady broke down, while her mamma laughed decorously and under protest as it were; and paterfamilias, in an almost steady voice, thus spoke—
‘You never heard of Heatherstone before, then? No? Well—the man you were trying to lure over a middle rail was formerly known, that is, before he entered the Church from strong convictions, as perhaps the boldest, the most reckless rider in Australia. He has ridden more steeplechases than you have hairs on your heads, I was going to say—but, to speak moderately, a larger number than most men living. Since he became a clergyman, a most sincere and hard-working one, he has given up sensational riding, and being passionately fond of horses, mortifies the flesh by abstaining from all that style of thing. You will excuse us all, I know, for being so rude; but really, you must admit the joke was irresistible.’
‘I see—I admit—I confess,’ said Ernest, with an air of deepest penitence. ‘If I could only do penance for my sins of superficial judgment, it would be such a relief. Do you think the Rev. Egbert has a trifle of spare sackcloth?’
‘You didn’t notice his seat on horseback?’ asked one of the young ladies innocently. ‘Doesn’t he look like a horseman? He can’t hide that, or help his hands being so perfect—though I think he tries.’
‘He rode a horse over a three-railed fence once, without saddle or bridle,’ said the other sister, ‘for a bet; before he was ordained.’
‘He took Ingoldsby, the great steeplechaser, over a three-railed fence at twelve o’clock at night, and pitch dark too; there was a lantern on each post though,’ chimed in the sixteen-year-old hero-worshipper of any reckless deed in saddle or harness.
‘The maddest thing of all that I ever heard of him,’ affirmed papa, in conclusion, ‘was going across country one evening and taking sixteen wire fences running. He won his bets, but he had two hardish falls; one a collar-boner, into the bargain.’
‘I really begin to think,’ said Mr. Neuchamp despairingly, after every one had transacted a good downright unrestrained chuckle, ‘that I shall never become fully acclimatised. This is the most peculiar and utterly unintelligible country ever discovered; or, am I devoid of understanding to an extent which disables me from ever rating individuals at their proper value?’