His horse had been ambling forward
unpressed. Now it laid its ears flat, and a minute later its master's
slower senses caught the clop-clop of a second set of hoofs, the noise
of wheels. Mahony had reached a place where two roads joined, and saw a
covered buggy approaching. He drew rein and waited.
The occupant of the vehicle had wound the reins round the empty
lamp-bracket, and left it to the sagacity of his horse to keep the
familiar track, while he dozed, head on breast, in the corner. The animal
halted of itself on coming up with its fellow, and Archdeacon Long opened
his eyes.
"Ah, good-day to you, doctor!--Yes, as you see, enjoying a little nap.
I was out early."
He got down from the buggy and, with bent knees and his hands in his
pockets, stretched the creased cloth of his trousers, where this had cut
into his flesh. He was a big, brawny, handsome man, with a massive nose,
a cloven chin, and the most companionable smile in the world. As he
stood, he touched here a strap, there a buckle on the harness of his
chestnut--a well-known trotter, with which he often made a match--and
affectionately clapped the neck of Mahony's bay. He could not keep his
hands off a horse. By choice he was his own stableman, and in earlier
life had been a dare-devil rider. Now, increasing weight led him to
prefer buggy to saddle; but his recklessness had not diminished. With
the reins in his left hand, he would run his light, two-wheeled trap up
any wooded, boulder-strewn hill and down the other side, just as in his
harum-scarum days he had set it at felled trees, and, if rumour spoke
true, wire-fences.
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