The surgeon produced a phial from his pocket, and with the phial a small painters' brush. "In this bottle there's a brown dye," he said; "and I want you to paint the white spot with that brown dye after you've groomed the 'Buffalo,' so that whenever my friend comes to claim the horse the brute may be ready for him. You must apply the dye three or four times, at short intervals. It's a pretty fast one, and it'll take a good many pails of water to wash it out." Jim Hawkins laughed heartily at the idea of this manoeuvre. "Why you are a rare deep one, guv'nor," he exclaimed; "that there game is just like the canary dodge, what they do so well down Seven Dials way. You ketches yer sparrer, and you paints him a lively yeller, and then you sells him to your innocent customer for the finest canary as ever wabbled in the grove--a little apt to be mopish at first, but warranted to sing beautiful as soon as ever he gets used to his new master and missus. And, oh! don't he just sing beautiful--not at all neither." "There's the bottle, Hawkins, and there's the brush. You know what you've got to do." "All right, guv'nor." "Good night, then," said Victor, as he left the stable. He did not stay to finish his cigar under the fast-falling snow; but walked back to his own room, where he slept soundly. He was astir very early the next morning. He went down stairs, after breakfasting in his own room, saw the landlord, and hired a good strong horse, commonly used by the proprietor of the "Cross Keys" on all his journeys to and from the market-town and outlying villages. Victor Carrington mounted this horse, and rode across the Common to the village of Hallgrove. He stopped to give his horse a drink of water before a village inn, and while stopping to do this he asked a few questions of the ostler. "Whereabouts is Hallgrove Rectory?" he asked. "About a quarter of a mile farther on, sir," answered the man; "you can't miss it if you keep along that road. A big red house, by the side of a river." "Thanks. This is a great place for hunting, isn't it?" "Yes, that it be, sir. The Horsley foxhounds are a'most allus meeting somewheres about here." "When do they meet next?" "The day arter to-morrow--Boxing-day, sir. They're to meet in the field by Hallgrove Ferry, a mile and a quarter beyond the rectory, at ten o'clock in the morning. It's to be a reg'lar grand day's sport, I've heard say. Our rector is to ride a new horse, wot's been given to him by his brother." "Indeed!" "Yes, sir; I war down at the rectory stables yesterday arternoon, and see the animal--a splendid bay, rising sixteen hands."