"Met these 'ere ladies on the 'ill an' been showing them over the course. No offence, I hope, guv'nor?" William did not answer, and Bill took leave of Sarah in a manner that told Esther that they had arranged to meet again. "Where did you pick up that bloke?" "He came up and spoke to us, and Esther stopped to speak to the parson." "To the parson. What do you mean?" The circumstance was explained, and William asked them what they thought of the racing. "We didn't see no racing," said Sarah; "we was on the 'ill on the wooden 'orses. Esther's 'orse won. She got a mug; show the mug, Esther." "So you saw no Derby after all?" said William. "Saw no racin'!" said his neighbour; "ain't she won the cup?" The joke was lost on the women, who only perceived that they were being laughed at. "Come up here, Esther," said William; "stand on my box. The 'orses are just going up the course for the preliminary canter. And you, Sarah, take Teddy's place. Teddy, get down, and let the lady up." "Yes, guv'nor. Come up 'ere, ma'am." "And is those the 'orses?" said Sarah. "They do seem small." The ringmen roared. "Not up to those on the 'ill, ma'am," said one. "Not such beautiful goers," said another. There were two or three false starts, and then, looking through a multitude of hats, Esther saw five or six thin greyhound-looking horses. They passed like shadows, flitted by; and she was sorry for the poor chestnut that trotted in among the crowd. This was the last race. Once more the favourite had been beaten; there were no bets to pay, and the bookmakers began to prepare for departure. It was the poor little clerks who were charged with the luggage. Teddy did not seem as if he would ever reach the top of the hill. With Esther and Sarah on either arm, William struggled with the crowd. It was hard to get through the block of carriages. Everywhere horses waited with their harness on, and Sarah was afraid of being bitten or kicked. A young aristocrat cursed them from the box-seat, and the groom blew a blast as the drag rolled away. It was like the instinct of departure which takes a vast herd at a certain moment. The great landscape, half country, half suburb, glinted beneath the rays of a setting sun; and through the white dust, and the drought of the warm roads, the brakes and carriages and every crazy vehicle rolled towards London; orange-sellers, tract-sellers, thieves, vagrants, gipsies, made for their various quarters--roadside inns, outhouses, hayricks, hedges, or the railway station. Down the long hill the vast crowd made its way, humble pedestrians and carriage folk, all together, as far as the cross-roads. At the "Spread Eagle" there would be stoppage for a parting drink, there the bookmakers would change their clothes, and there division would happen in the crowd--half for the railway station, half for the London road. It was there that the traditional sports of the road began. A drag, with a band of exquisites