She died 'bout a year agone. 'Tis her pup.''
Stoner found it difficult to regret her decease; as a
witness for identification she would have left something to
be desired.
``You'll go for a ride, Master Tom?'' was the next
startling proposition that came from the old man. ``We've a
nice little roan cob that goes well in saddle. Old Biddy is
getting a bit up in years, though 'er goes well still, but
I'll have the little roan saddled and brought round to
door.''
``I've got no riding things,'' stammered the castaway,
almost laughing as he looked down at his one suit of
well-worn clothes.
``Master Tom,'' said the old man earnestly, almost with an
offended air, ``all your things is just as you left them. A
bit of airing before the fire an' they'll be all right.
'Twill be a bit of a distraction like, a little riding and
wild-fowling now and agen. You'll find the folk around here
has hard and bitter minds towards you. They hasn't
forgotten nor forgiven. No one'll come nigh you, so you'd
best get what distraction you can with horse and dog.
They'm good company, too.''
Old George hobbled away to give his orders, and Stoner,
feeling more than ever like one in a dream, went upstairs to
inspect ``Master Tom's'' wardrobe.
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