Robin broke into renewed jeers, but at the same time kept well out of his reach; for the old man's face bore a look that no one dared trifle with, and he had a heavy hand on occasion, as many of them had come to know. His eyes now were fastened on the horse that was rapidly approaching through a cloud of dust on the yellow road, and a look of wonder was growing on his brown face.

The rider pulled rein and drew up just outside the open gate, looking down on the group there in some bewilderment Then his eyes lighted up, as the old trainer stepped out and, taking off his hat, put forth his hand.

"Uncle Robin!"

"My young master." He took the bridle just as he might have done years before had his old master ridden up to the gate.

The act impressed the gang behind him as few things could have done, and though they nudged one another, they fell back and huddled together rather farther away, and only whispered their ridicule among themselves.

The boy sprang from the saddle, and the old man took possession of the horse.

They were a strange-looking pair, horse and rider, fresh from the country, both of them dusty and travel-stained, and, as the stable-boys whispered among themselves, both "starving for the curry-comb."

The lad passed in at the gate, whipping the dust from his clothes with the switch he carried.

"Good-evening, boys."

Robin glared back fiercely to see that no insolent response was made, but there was no danger. The voice and manner were such that many a hand jerked up to a cap. Besides, the young lad, though his clothes were old and travel-stained, and his hair was long and was powdered with dust, showed a clean-cut face, a straight back, broad shoulders, and muscular legs, as he strode by with a swing which many a stable-boy remarked.

Robin led the horse away around the end of the nearest stable. No one would have known