Once or twice Stingo would be there, and then the jolly fun would be jollier than ever; and in the evening Mr. Hannaford's gig with the big black mare would come around and the brothers would labour up into the seat and Percival would squeeze in between them and they would let him drive and he would pop the mare along at a lashing speed and there would be the highest good-fellowship. He would be set down at the top of Five Furlong Hill--nothing would induce Mr. Hannaford to come into the village where women might be met. "Well, good night, Mr. Hannaford; good night, Mr. Stingo. Thank you most awfully for all your kindness to me. I hope I'll come again soon." The brothers would usually wait until he reached the turning to the village; setting up, the one a husky shout, and the other a terrible bellow, in reply to the faint "Good night!" that came to them through the dusk. "I never in all my life took to nothing, not even a little 'orse, like I have to that little master," Mr. Hannaford would say. "Never seen such a proper one, never." And Stingo, with painful huskiness: "Ought to ha' been a little lordship!" "Why, that's just exactly what I say," Mr. Hannaford would reply, enormously pleased. "Bless my eighteen stun proper if it isn't!" IV Happy, happy time! There were the visits to mild old Mr. Amber in the library at Burdon Old Manor. Strongest contrast, the delights here, to those enjoyed among the little 'orses. Strongest contrast, mild old Mr. Amber with his stooping shoulders and his gentle ways, to tremendous Mr. Hannaford with his lusty back and his vigorous habits. But the same eager welcome: "Well, well, Master Percival, this is indeed a pleasant surprise! And we are just sitting down to our tea--and I declare Mrs. Ferris has sent us some strawberry jam! Now if that isn't too fortunate I don't know what is!" "Well, it's awfully jolly," Percival agrees. "Mrs. Ferris makes very nice strawberry jam, doesn't she?" In the act of pouring tea, mild old Mr. Amber sets down the pot and emphasises with his glasses. "My dear sir--my dear Percival, she makes the very best strawberry jam! Mrs. Ferris has made that strawberry jam for forty years--to our certain knowledge, for-ty years." Percival's rounded eyes show his appreciation of this consistent industry. "Must have made a lot," is his comment. "Tons," says Mr. Amber. "My dear sir--my dear Percival, I should say--tons." He stabs the glasses at his listener. "And every berry, sir, every single berry, wet season or dry, from our own gardens!" It always comes back to that with Mr. Amber. The old Manor, the House of Burdon, is his world and his life, and he is mightily jealous you shall know their quality.