“We have come to disturb you at this unearthly hour,” said Miss Braxton, apologetically, “because I wanted to see the horses at their work, and father and my brothers were good enough to come with me.” Colonel Bill explained that his horses had finished their morning exercise, but that it would afford him great pleasure to show them in their stalls. Miss Braxton was sure that they were putting him to a great deal of trouble, and she was also convinced that to see horses in their stalls must be delightful; so presently the party was marching along under the shed, looking at the calm-eyed thoroughbreds in their narrow little homes, the Colonel and Miss Braxton leading the way. With the wisdom of her sex, Miss Braxton concealed her lack of special knowledge by a generous general enthusiasm which captivated her simple-hearted host. “And that is really Beau Brummel!” she cried, with sparkling eyes, pointing to a splendid deep-chested animal, who was regarding them with mild curiosity. “And that is Queen of Sheba next to him! What lovely heads they have, and how very proud you must be to own them!” One would have thought her days and nights had been given to a study of these two thoroughbreds. “They are the best long-distance horses in the country,” said the Colonel, flushing with pleasure. And then, in reply to her eager questioning, he gave their pedigrees and performances, all their battles and victories, in detail--a list as long and glorious as the triumphs of Napoleon, and perhaps as useful. At each stall she had fresh questions to ask. Her brothers, with an eye to the coming meeting, listened eagerly to the Colonel's answers, while the Major and the General, lagging behind, discussed affairs of state. At last the horses were all seen; everybody shook hands with the Colonel and thanked him, the General with great pompousness, and Miss Braxton with a smile, and a hope that she might see him during the meeting; and the old barouche went lumbering away down the road, until it presently buried itself, like a monstrous cuttlefish, in a cloud of its own making. Colonel Bill looked after it with a pleased expression on his face, and pulling his tawny mustache reflectively, muttered to himself with true masculine acuteness, “She knew as much about my horses as I did myself.” * * * * * The great Lexington meeting was in the full tide of its success. Peach-cheeked, bright-eyed Blue-grass girls, and their big-boned, deep-chested admirers, riding and driving in couples and parties, filled all the white, dusty tumpikes leading to the race-course, and made gay the quaint old Lexington streets. The grand-stand echoed with their merriment, and they cheered home the horses with an enthusiasm seen nowhere else in the world.