"I confess," said Frank, "I trust all these matters to my groom."
"Incredible carelessness!" she continued. "What was your father thinking of? And you cannot shoe a horse, or cut his mane and tail. Or worm a dog, or crop his ears, or cut his dew-claws; or reclaim a hawk or give him casting-stones, or direct his diet when he is sealed! Or—"
Frank could only once for all profess his utter ignorance of all such accomplishments.
"Then in the name of Heaven, Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, what can you do?"
"Very little to the purpose, I am afraid, Miss Vernon," answered Frank; "only this—when my groom has dressed my horse I can ride him, and when my hawk is in the field, I can fly him."
"Can you do this?" said Die Vernon, setting her horse to a rude gate composed of pieces of wood from the forest, and clearing it at a bound. In a moment Frank was at her side.
"There are hopes for you yet," she said. "I was afraid that you were a very degenerate Osbaldistone. But what brings you to Cub Hall? I suppose you could have stayed away if you had liked?"
"The Cubs of the Hall may be as you describe them," said Frank, looking at his companion, "but I am convinced there is one exception that will make amends for all their deficiencies."
"Oh, you mean Rashleigh!" said Die Vernon.
"Indeed, I do not," said Frank, who had not been four years in France for nothing, "I never even heard of Rashleigh. I mean some one very much nearer me."