Bright rose the sun upon the "White Hart" tavern that stands within

Eltham village, softening its rugged lines, gilding its lattices,

lending its ancient timbers a mellower hue.

This inn of the "White Hart" is an ancient structure and very

unpretentious (as great age often is), and being so very old, it has

known full many a golden dawn. But surely never, in all its length

of days, had it experienced quite such a morning as this. All night

long there had been a strange hum upon the air, and now, early though

the hour, Eltham village was awake and full of an unusual bustle and

excitement. And the air still hummed, but louder now, a confused

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sound made up of the tramp of horse-hoofs, the rumble of wheels, the

tread of feet and the murmur of voices. From north and south, from

east and west, a great company was gathering, a motley throng of

rich and poor, old and young: they came by high road and by-road, by

lane and footpath, from sleepy village and noisy town,--but, one and

all, with their faces set towards the ancient village of Eltham.

For to-day is the fateful fifteenth of July; to-day the great

Steeplechase is to be run--seven good miles across country from point

to point; to-day the very vexed and all-important question as to

which horse out of twenty-three can jump and gallop the fastest over

divers awkward obstacles is to be settled once and for all.

Up rose the sun higher and higher, chasing the morning mists from

dell and dingle, filling the earth with his glory and making glad

the heart of man, and beast, and bird.

And presently, from a certain casement in the gable of the "White

Hart," his curls still wet with his ablutions, Barnabas thrust his

touzled head to cast an anxious glance first up at the cloudless

blue of the sky, then down at the tender green of the world about,

and to breathe in the sweet, cool freshness of the morning. But

longest and very wistfully he gazed to where, marked out by small

flags, was a track that led over field, and meadow, and winding

stream, over brown earth newly turned by the plough, over hedge, and

ditch, and fence, away to the hazy distance. And, as he looked, his

eye brightened, his fingers clenched themselves and he frowned, yet

smiled thereafter, and unfolding a letter he held, read as follows: OUR DEAR LAD,--Yours received, and we are rejoyced to know you so

successful so far. Yet be not over confident, says your father, and

bids me remind you as a sow's ear ain't a silk purse, Barnabas, nor

ever can be. Your description of horse reads well, though brief. But

as to the Rayce, Barnabas, though you be a rider born, yet having

ridden a many rayces in my day, I now offer you, my dear lad, a word

of advice. In a rayce a man must think as quick as he sees, and act

as quick as he thinks, and must have a nice judgment of payce. Now

here comes my word of advice.




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