, 1883-10-06
A LUCKY MISTAKE.

"Tom," said my father to me, one
cold November afternoon, as we
stood in the fiag-paved hall of our
old-fashioned farm house, "you'd
better put the little bay mare in the
dOg-cart and go into Worthington
for that saddle. l clean forgot to
call for it yesterday, and If you want
to go out with the hounds on Satur-
day, you won't have another chance
of getting it,"
Thus said my stalwart, weather.
reddened, gray-haired old sire, as he
put on his rough hat and took his
thick walking-stick from the stand
preparatory to going about the farm.
1t was about three O'clock, and din
ner was just over; for the time Of
which l speak was twenty years ago,
and the farmer had not yet learned
to live according to the laws Of a
fashion unsuited to his income and
| no ONNhBdNibliJ VI " bpt AilN SAN lt
and expenditure Of his landlord. My
father was an Old-fashiOned yeoman,
who titled the land which his great
grandfather had titled before him /;
and, and even had he lived in these
days, when men Of his type are rare,
he would have kept to the old-fash-
ioncd ways.
was nothing 10th to act upon the
parental suggestion, although it
meant a long drive in the bitter cold,
and although the return journey
would have to be made In the dark
or with very Indifferent moonlight.
We were utterly isolated at the
MistIeto Farm for we were seven
miles from WOrthingtOn, our nearest
town, and ten miles, in the opposite
direction from the nearest railway
station. My father farmed nearly
five hundred acres, some Of the land
especially thatlying toward Worth
ington-bcing very poor stuff, and
only fit for sheep. There was not
even a village near; the laborers
lived in cottages scattered over the
estate and, in the depth Of winter,
when there was snow, or when the
floods are out, we were often week
at time and never saw a soul be-
sides ourselves and our employees.
But we always had a good bit Of
hOrse-flesh in the stable, as, indeed,
was absolutely necessary, when our
only means Of communication with
the outer world was by road, and
when the distances were so great and
the roads 50 bad. The little bay
mare that 1 was going to drive-Fly-
by-night was the name that we af-
terward gave her-was young one
Of our breeding, clever as a cat and
dOcile as a dog. From her infancy
she was my playfellOw would come
to me when l whistled to her, eat
out Of my hand or my pocket and
when the time came for backing her
and breaking her, there was nothing
to be done. She had perfect conf
dence and truth in us all, and espec-
tally in me the cat by the fireside
could not be more gentle or more
easy to control. II only people would
learn that horse can, by kind treat
ment and constant association, be
made as tame and affedtionate as a
household pet, there would be fewer
broken bones from back Jumpers and
runaways.
She was a world too good for .har-
ness, l thought to myself, as / led
her out of the stable and proceeded
to put her to the Old-fashioned,
square dog-cart, which turned up
behind, and looked like a mail cart
barring the color, which was a dingy
gray. The little mare was my hun
ter when the hounds were within
reach and my father would let me
go and she carried me as gamely,
even after twenty miles Of harness
the day before, as II she was one Of
the squire's cracks and went out only
once a week.
As we trotted quietly down the
drive, my father put his head over
the hedge and called to me:
"Maybe the saddle won't be An
finished" he said, his red face glow
ing with the cold, his eyes glancing
critically at the mare. 'If so, you
can put up at the Angel and have
your tea but don't he later than you
can help. Have you got your watch
on you ?'
"Yds," l said, wondering at the
question.
"YOu'd better give 1t to me-" said
my father, stretching his arm over
the hedge. 81 heard yesterday, at
the ordinary, there was a gentleman
stopped Monday night on the road.
You haven't too much money on
you, l suppose ?"
''No danger" said with laugh,
as put my watch and chain into