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“No; it ‘s the blue by a neck,” said her father. “I congratulate you, Snowden. But that ‘s a great horse. It ‘s well that it was not a furlong farther.”

“I think so,” said the owner of the winner, hurrying away.

“They have cheated him. I am sure he won,” asserted the young lady.

They laughed at her enthusiasm.

“Newby,” said one of the gentlemen, “you ‘d better get Miss Catherine to pick your horses for you.” Newby winced.

“Oh, it ‘s easy!” said the girl, nonchalantly, “Bone and muscle–and a green country boy–with a pedigree.”

IV

As Johnston was leading his horse away, the gentleman who had fallen at the water-jump came up to him.

“I want to thank you,” he said. “I saw you pull him around.”

“I was afraid I ‘d strike you,” said the other, simply.

Just then two gentlemen pushed through the crowd. One was Mr. Newby.

“Are you the owner of this horse!” he asked the young man.

“Yes, sir.” He spoke with pride.

“Dat he is de owner,” put in old Robin, who had the bridle, “an’ he owns a good hoss! He got de ambition.”

“Want to sell him?”

“Um-um-hm–d’ n’ know. I came on to sell him.”

“Don’t you sell him. Don’t you never sell him,” urged the old trainer. “Keep him, an’ le’ me handle him for you. You ‘ll git mo’ ‘n second money next time.”

“I ‘ll give you a thousand dollars for him. What do you say?”

Old Robin gave an exclamation.

“A thousand dollars! For dis hoss!”

The gentleman’s friend broke in:

“Oh, come, Newby, don’t rob the boy. He ‘ll give you two thousand,” he laughed.

They were examining the horse as he walked along under his blanket.

“Two thousand?” The boy was hesitating. It was a great sum to him.

“No; but I ‘ll split the difference,” said Mr. Newby: “I ‘ll give you fifteen hundred for him if he is as good as I think him when I look him over. What ‘s his name?”

“Jefferson Davis.”

“Oh, the devil! I ‘ll change his name pretty quickly.”

“No, you won’t,” said the boy.

“Won’t I? I ‘ll show you when I get him,” he muttered. “Well, what do you say?”

“Will you promise not to change his name?”

The other laughed.

“Not much! When I buy him he ‘s my horse.”

“He ‘ll never be your horse.”

“What?”

“He ‘s not for sale.” He turned away.

“Oh, nonsense! Here; wait—-“

“I would not sell him to you, sir, at any price. Good-morning.” He moved on.

“You ‘ve lost a good horse,” said his friend.

“Oh, I ‘ll get him yet!”

“I don’t think so,” said Colonel Ashland, who, with his daughter on his arm, had come up to congratulate the young rider.

“I wish I might have won for you,” said the young man to Miss Ashland. His cap was in his hand and he made the same quaint bow that he had made before.

“I think you did win; at least, you ought to have had it. My father says he is a great horse.”

At the words the color mounted to his sunburned cheeks. “Thank you,” he said, and looked suddenly deep into her eyes.

She put out her hand to pet the horse, and he turned and rested his head against her. She gave an exclamation of delight.

“Oh! father, look.”

“We know our friends,” said young Johnston.

“Dat we does. She ‘s de on’ies one as bet on him,” asserted old Robin. “Dat young lady knows a good hoss.”

“Who is that boy?” asked Mr. Newby, as the horse was led away.

“A green country boy with a pedigree,” said a low voice at his shoulder.

“Where does he come from!”

“Virginia,” said Colonel Ashland. “And his name is Theodoric Johnston. It ‘s bred in the bone.”

*****

Next morning as young Johnston rode his horse out of the stable gate, old Robin walked at his side. Just in front of the pawn-shop Robin pulled out his watch and examined it carefully.

“I don’ mind but one thing,” he said. “I did n’t have dis yisterday to hol’ de time on him. But nem mind: wait tell nex’ season.”