eldest son of a plain squire?' said Frank, wishing to say something civil in return for his cousin's civility.
'I wouldn't for one,' said the Honourable John. 'What chance have I? There's Porlock's as strong as a horse; and then George comes next. And the governor's good for these twenty years.' And the young man sighed as he reflected what small hope there was that all those who were nearest and dearest to him should die out of his way, and leave him to the sweet enjoyment of an earl's coronet and fortune. 'Now, you're sure of your game some day; and as you've no brothers, I suppose the squire'll let you do pretty well what you like. Besides, he's not so strong as my governor, though he's younger.'
Frank had never looked at his fortune in this light before, and was so slow and green that he was not much delighted at the prospect now that it was offered to him. He had always, however, been taught to look to his cousins, the De Courcys, as men with whom it would be very expedient that he should be intimate; he therefore showed no offence, but changed the conversation.
'Shall you hunt with the Barsetshires this next season, John? I hope you will; I shall.'
'Well, I don't know. It's very slow. It's all tillage here, or else woodland. I rather fancy I shall go to Leicestershire when the partridge-shooting is over. What sort of a lot do you mean to come out with, Frank?'
Frank became a little red as he answered, 'Oh, I shall have two,' he said; 'that is, the mare I have had these two years, and the horse my father gave me this morning.'
'What! only those two? and the mare is nothing more than a pony.'
'She is fifteen hands,' said Frank, offended.
'Well, Frank, I certainly would not stand that,' said the Honourable John. 'What! go out before the county with one untrained horse and a pony; and you the heir to Greshamsbury!'
'I'll have him so trained before November,' said Frank, 'that nothing in Barsetshire shall stop him. Peter says'—Peter was the Greshamsbury stud-groom—'that he tucks up his hind legs beautifully.'
'But who the deuce would think of going to work with one horse; or two either, if you insist on calling the old pony a huntress? I'll put you up to a trick, my lad: if you stand that you'll stand anything; and if you don't mean to go in leading-strings all your life, now is the time to show it. There's young Baker—Harry Baker, you know—he came of age last year, and he has as pretty a string of nags as any one would wish to set
