The chase was not a long one; the
string suddenly cut across to the door in the high fence dividing the
front and back gardens, and there disappeared.
"What next?" said Jim.
"If it was me," said Wally, with a fine disregard of grammar, "I should
open the door."
"Good for you, Wally," grinned Jim. "Here goes!" He flung the door
open, and then stood as if rooted to the spot.
The string went on. It ended, however, just through the door, where its
end was spliced to a halter, held by black Billy, whose smile disclosed
every tooth in his head. Fidgeting in the halter was a big bay horse,
showing all Monarch's quality, and all his good looks; a show ring
horse, picked by a keen judge, and built for speed as well as strength.
He looked at Jim with a kind eye, set well in his beautiful head. There
was no flaw in him; from his heels to his fine, straight forelock he
was perfection.
Jim had no words. He did not need to be told anything--Norah's face had
been enough; but he could not speak. He took refuge with the big bay,
moving forward and putting out a hand, to which the horse responded
instantly, rubbing his head against him in friendly fashion. Then,
across the arched neck, Jim's eyes met his father's, and the colour
flooded into his brown face.
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