Bill Kirby's foible was not punctuality; when Christian arrived at
the appointed cross-roads in the middle of Nad Wood she found a
patient little group of three or four men, farmers, all of them, she
thought, waiting under the dewy branches of the beeches for the
arrival of the hounds. One of them rode quickly from the group to meet
her. A young man, with a slight figure and square shoulders, who was
riding a long-legged bay horse, that, like its rider, was unknown to
Christian. The light under the beech trees was dim and green, and such
faint illumination as the grey and quiet sky afforded, was coming,
like this rider, to meet Christian. He was close to her before he
spoke, then he caught his cap off his head and waved it, and shouted:
"Hurrah, Christian! Here I am! Home again! Don't pretend you never saw
me before, because I won't stand swagger from you!"
"Larry! Not you? Not really?"
He had her hand by this time, and was shaking it wildly despite the
resentment of the chestnut mare, at the sudden proximity of the bay
horse.
"Yes! Me all right! _Moi qui vous parle_--as we say in French
Paris! I only got home last night. I bought this chap at Sewell's on
my way through. He's a County Limerick horse. I bet he's a goer! How
do you like him?"
It was like Larry to require, instantly, praise and recognition for
his new purchase, but Christian wasn't thinking of the horse.
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