weather, strong passions, and a high temper had hammered into it a kind of fierce immobility. . . . God, thought Leigh, he will be like the old lady when he is her age, if he doesn't break his neck while riding before he reaches it!
The youths discussed the mare together, her master—rather ostentatiously, Leigh fancied—turning his back on them, and continuing his caressing arrangement of her mane and forelock. No admiring comment or carefully provocative question from Leigh drew more than a monosyllable from him. Still they persisted. He could not spend the entire afternoon over the mare's toilette. . . .
No, apparently he was satisfied. He looked her over; then, taking her head quickly between his hands, he pressed a kiss on her nose. "My pretty one," Leigh heard him say. The mare's eyes were two beaming orbs of contentment, her forehead the very throne of love. She uttered a deep sigh.
Renny came out of the loose box.
"What is her name?" asked Leigh.
"Cora."
A stableman was carrying buckets of water along the passage to the various stalls. He placed one before the occupant of the stall nearest them, and a long grey head was thrust forward, yearning lips were plunged into the cold drink. Renny pushed past the boys and went around into the stall.
"How is the leg, Wright?"
"Fine, sir. Couldn't be mendin' better."
They bent over a bandaged hind leg.
"It was wonderful, sir, you getting him the way you did. He's going to make his mark, I'm sure of it. And, for my part, I don't believe he's spoiled for flat racing, say what they will."
Renny and the stableman stared with concentration at the bandage. The water in the bucket was lowered three parts of the way down. Coaxing whinnies, the indolent jangle of buckles, the petulant stamp of a hoof, were the only sounds.
"How did he get hurt?" asked Leigh, in an attempt
