Jack Winthrop, who was a wiry-made sporting-looking character, in a black cut-away and a low-crowned hat, was sitting behind a wicked-looking “red” mare, the which animal was harnessed to a vehicle called a dog-cart, but incapable of containing, with any degree of comfort, any creature, four-footed or otherwise, in addition to the said wiry Jack himself. He gave a knowing nod and wink to John, and threw an admiring glance at Honor, as he passed, at the full swing of the wicked chestnut, the more steady-going “family man.” John shook his head gravely. “There he goes!” he said. “That’s just the way with those fellows! Jack, now, has doctored up that mare of his; and some poor devil of a muff will be stuck, I’ll answer for it, before the day is out.” It was scarcely, however, the place or the season for moralising. They were by this time in the ruck of carriages and horsemen, all going in one direction, and John Beacham’s attention was amply employed, not only on the steering of Jolly Boy through the crowd, but in returning the cordial greetings of his many friends and acquaintances. At length, and after sundry exclamations of alarm, and more than one involuntary clutch at the reins on the part of John’s agitated parent, the little party in the “trap” came in sight, through an opening in the trees, of a great white marquee, capable--if the voice of rumour could be believed--of containing within its canvas walls a whole regiment of soldiers, the said marquee having been erected in a broad and sheltered glen, at about five hundred yards’ distance from the house. The scene that presented itself to Honor’s admiring gaze was full of life and colour and animation. The band of an infantry regiment, at that time stationed at Leigh, was thundering forth a popular polka, adapted to brazen instruments in full regimental force. Groups of well-dressed people were scattered here and there over the greensward: the branching trees lent a delicious shelter from the fierce rays of the summer sun; and a glimpse that could be caught by the curious of the interior of the tent disclosed an array of plates, dishes, and glasses that would have caused the heart of a fasting man to dance with anticipated bliss. “Now, then, look alive! Jump out! The horse won’t stand in this row,” said John, a little impatiently perhaps, for Jolly Boy, in spite of the five and twenty miles’ journey, was restless with excitement, and Will Burton, one of Mr. Beacham’s trusted “helpers,” who had been sent on by train to wait his master’s coming, was holding him (though with some little difficulty) steady by the bit during the “young missus’s” descent.