My way lay by Matching Green, and as I stopped at the village inn to refresh my horse with a pail of gruel and myself with a glass of ale, who should come up but old Tawney, Tom Cuffe’s second horseman!  Besides being an adept at his calling, familiar with every cross-road and almost every field in the county, he knew nearly as well as a hunted fox himself which way the creature meant to run.  Tawney was a great gossip, and quite a mine of curious information about things equine and human—­especially about things equine.  Here was a chance not to be neglected of learning something about Mephistopheles; so after warming Tawney’s heart and opening his lips with a glass of hot whiskey punch, I began: 

“You’ve got a new first whip, I see.”

“Yes, sir, name of Cobbe—­Paul Cobbe.  He comes from the Berkshire country, he do, sir.”

“But how is it that Rawlings has left? and who is that gentleman he was with to-day?”

“What! haven’t you heard!” exclaimed Tawney, as surprised at my ignorance as if I had asked him the name of the reigning sovereign.

“I have not heard, which, seeing that I spent the greater part of the summer at sea and returned only the other day, is perhaps not greatly to be wondered at.”

“Well, the gentleman as Rawlings has gone to and as he was with to-day is Mr. Fortescue; him as has taken Kingscote.”

Kingscote was a country-house of no extraordinary size, but with so large a park and gardens, conservatories and stables so extensive as to render its keeping up very costly; and the owner or mortgagee, I know not which, had for several years been vainly trying to let it at a nominal rent.

“He must be rich, then.  Kingscote will want a lot of keeping up.”

“Rich is not the word, sir.  He has more money than he knows what to do with.  Why, he has twenty horses now, and is building loose-boxes for ten more, and he won’t look at one under a hundred pounds.  Rawlings has got a fine place, he has that.”

“I am surprised he should have left the kennels, though.  He loses his chance of ever becoming huntsman.”

“He is as good as that now, sir.  He had a present of fifty pounds to start with, gets as many shillings a week and all found, and has the entire management of the stables, and with a gentleman like Mr. Fortescue there’ll be some nice pickings.”

“Very likely.  But why does Mr. Fortescue want a pilot?  He rides well, and his horses seem to know their business.”

“He won’t have any as doesn’t.  Yes, he rides uncommon well for an aged man, does Mr. Fortescue.  I suppose he wants somebody to show him the way and keep him from getting ridden over.  It isn’t nice to get ridden over when you’re getting into years.”

“It isn’t nice whether you are getting into years or not.  But you cannot call Mr. Fortescue an old man.”

“You cannot call him a young ’un.  He has a good many gray hairs, and them puckers under his eyes hasn’t come in a day.  But he has a young heart, I will say that for him.  Did you see how he did that ‘double’ as pounded half the field?”