“Do see how Brown Bess has come on, sir! but, to be sure, Master Philip keeps her in exercise. Ah, sir, he will be as good a rider as your honour, one of these days.” “He ought to be a better, Tom; for I think he’ll never have my weight to carry. Well, saddle Brown Bess for Mr. Philip. What horse shall I take? Ah! here’s my old friend, Puppet!” “I don’t know what’s come to Puppet, sir; he’s off his feed, and turned sulky. I tried him over the bar yesterday; but he was quite restive like.” “The devil he was! So, so, old boy, you shall go over the six-barred gate to-day, or we’ll know why.” And Mr. Beaufort patted the sleek neck of his favourite hunter. “Put the saddle on him, Tom.” “Yes, your honour. I sometimes think he is hurt in the loins somehow--he don’t take to his leaps kindly, and he always tries to bite when we bridles him. Be quiet, sir!” “Only his airs,” said Philip. “I did not know this, or I would have taken him over the gate. Why did not you tell me, Tom?” “Lord love you, sir! because you have such a spurret; and if anything had come to you--” “Quite right: you are not weight enough for Puppet, my boy; and he never did like any one to back him but myself. What say you, brother, will you ride with us?” “No, I must go to ---- to-day with Arthur. I have engaged the post-horses at two o’clock; but I shall be with you to-morrow or the day after. You see his tutor expects him; and as he is backward in his mathematics, he has no time to lose.” “Well, then, good-bye, nephew!” and Beaufort slipped a pocket-book into the boy’s hand. “Tush! whenever you want money, don’t trouble your father--write to me--we shall be always glad to see you; and you must teach Philip to like his book a little better--eh, Phil?” “No, father; I shall be rich enough to do without books,” said Philip, rather coarsely; but then observing the heightened colour of his cousin, he went up to him, and with a generous impulse said, “Arthur, you admired this gun; pray accept it. Nay, don’t be shy--I can have as many as I like for the asking: you’re not so well off, you know.” The intention was kind, but the manner was so patronising that Arthur felt offended. He put back the gun, and said, drily, “I shall have no occasion for the gun, thank you.” If Arthur was offended by the offer, Philip was much more offended by the refusal. “As you like; I hate pride,” said he; and he gave the gun to the groom as he vaulted into his saddle with the lightness of a young Mercury. “Come, father!” Mr. Beaufort had now mounted his favourite hunter--a large, powerful horse well known for its prowess in the field. The rider trotted him once or twice through the spacious yard. “Nonsense, Tom: no more hurt in the loins than I am. Open that gate; we will go across the paddock, and take the gate yonder--the old six-bar--eh, Phil?” “Capital!--to be sure!--”