The animal under inspection came out of the ordeal nobly. He proved to be young, well-bred, and sound; a fine upstanding iron grey, five off, with lots of bone below the knee, plenty of room for his bellows, and grand quarters. And although Sam the groom said, “his colour was against him,” and Tom, the message boy, “suspicioned him of a splint,” and he had not “sufficient quality” to please Joe the gardener, yet on the whole, the verdict was in his favour, and he was pronounced to be “a shocking fine colt.” But his price! Well his price was surprisingly low, and was possibly accounted for by his rolling eye, and extremely animated manners. According to the little wizened groom who led him (by preference) “he was an outrageous lepper, and could jump a town, was never known to turn his head from anything, and had a cruel turn of speed.” Being requested to canter him quietly round the lawn, and exhibit his paces, he refused with considerable decision. He declared that he had the lumbago so badly he could not sit in a saddle, and had not been on a horse’s back for months. “Let the gentleman throw a leg across the harse, and try him for himself.” The gentleman, who was greatly taken with the animal, was nothing loth, and promptly advanced to mount him. “Take him aisy, your honour,” muttered the groom, as he let down the stirrup leathers. “Take him kindly, he is young, and ye must just _flatter_ him a bit at the first go off.” But the horse scornfully refused to be taken aisy or flattered. He had been standing for some time, and was possibly cold, and certainly impatient; he had not been ridden for weeks (for reasons known to his groom). Consequently when he was mounted and let go, he lashed out with his heels in a manner that rapidly scattered his admirers, made two vicious buck jumps, and then bolted; going immediately down the avenue, at the rate of twenty miles an hour. “And the gate is shut!” gasped Mrs. Malone, as she clutched Betty’s arm, convulsively; “the gate--the iron gate.” Betty stood still and held her breath; they all stood and gazed, in expectation of some horrible catastrophe; for the avenue gate was over four feet high, with strong spikes along the top bar. “Thank God,” exclaimed Mrs. Malone, breaking a painful silence, as the grey, who had a fall of the ground with him, sailed over it like a deer. “At laste he can lep,” remarked Sam the groom, wiping the perspiration off his forehead with his sleeve. “And where is he _now_?” asked the Major in an angry voice. “He is away up the Roskeen Road,” shouted Tom, who had swarmed up a tree. “Faix, he nearly did it _that_ time; he was just into Mrs. Maccabe’s cart. Hurroo! the Captain has got a pull at him, and is taking him across country, he--he has gone slap through Dooley’s haggard and potato garden, and begorra,--now, now he is making for the canal.” And with this cheering announcement, Tom climbed down, declaring that he could see nothing more.