"Rub that horse down well, and get him cool and comfortable; give him a sup of water and a mouthful of hay, and I will come and see him fed." "Have you rode far, young man?" asked the ostler. "Not a very great way. I came out of Chelmsford this morning. See and rub his ears dry, ostler. You must make him look as well as you can, for I expect my master up in town to-night; and if I don't meet with a customer for that horse he'll blow me up." "He's a very fine horse; and if as good as he looks, would be worth any man's money." "He's better than he looks, ostler: and 'tisn't any man's money that will buy him. He must give a good price for him, whoever buys him. But look well after him. I must go and get a bait myself." She went into the bar, ordered her breakfast, took up the newspaper, and with all the airs of a consequential young jockey sat down to the perusal of it. After taking some refreshment she got up to see her horse fed. The ostler, finding so fine a horse was for sale, apprised a livery-stable-keeper of his acquaintance, who on hearing his representation hastened to look at him. Margaret was called out; the animal exhibited; under-valued by the dealer in the style so characteristic of such gentry; and his good qualifications well vouched for by the young groom. "Did you ever see a better shape?" exclaimed Margaret. "Look at his fore-end; there's a crest, there's a shoulder, there's a head! Look at his legs, as straight and clean as a colt's; and as for quarters, where will you find such for strength and beauty? He's six-year old next grass; has never done any hard work before this day; and you won't find a puff as big as a pea in any of his sinews. Quiet to ride or drive, and without a fault. Now, what's the matter with him?" This was such a poser to the dealer that he could only reply by asking, "Can I have a warranty with him?" "To be sure you can," said Margaret. "You may have a written one from me; or, if you like better to deal with my master, you may wait till he comes up, and then he'll give you a character, and perhaps you'll make a better bargain with him than you will with me." "Are you authorized to sell the horse?" "To be sure I am, or else I should not stand here to talk with you about him." "Who does he belong to, young man?" "He belongs to my master, Mr. Cook, of Ipswich, in Suffolk." "What do you want for him?" "One hundred guineas." "May I take him for a trial?" "Yes; when you have bought and paid for him. He is not to go out of my sight until I receive the money for him, or deliver the horse himself into my master's charge." "I should like to see him down our ride; I could better judge of his paces." "Clap the saddle on him. I will ride him where you like; or I will let you drive me with him; but I do not trust any one else with him whilst he is in my care."