No, sir.
I'll tell you what sort of hunter I should like to have for these
parts. I'd have him half-bred, short in the leg, short in the pastern,
short in the back, a good sloping shoulder, broad in the chest and the
forehead, long in the belly, and just the least bit over fifteen
hands--eh, Mr. Thoms? I don't think beauty's of much consequence when
your neck's in question. Let him be as angular and ragged in the hips
as you like, so long's his ribs are well up to the hip-bone. Have you
seen that black horse that young Trelyon rides?"
"'Tis a noble beast, sir--a noble beast," the farmer said; and he
would probably have gone on to state what ideal animal had been
constructed by his lavish imagination had not a man come running up at
this moment, breathless and almost speechless.
"Rosewarne," stammered Mr. Roscorla, "a--a word with you! I want to
say--"
The farmer, seeing he was in the way, called out a careless good-night
and rode on.
"Well, what's the matter?" said George Rosewarne a little snappishly:
he did not like being worried by excitable people.
"Your daughters!" gasped Mr.
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