to buy a horse, and asking him to provide me with an
extra fifty pounds.
The arrival of Harkaway was a red-letter day for
our uneventful household. Dixon and I had agreed
to say nothing about it to Aunt Evelyn, so there was a
genuine surprise when we were finishing our lunch
two days later and Miriam almost fell through the
dining-room door with a startled expression on her
face and exclaimed, "Oh, sir, your horse has come,
and he don't half look a beauty!"
"Good gracious, George, you don't mean to tell
me you've bought a horse?" said Aunt Evelyn,
fluttering up out of her chair and hastening to the
Sure enough, there was Harkaway with Dixon on
his back, and we all three went outside to admire him.
Aunt Evelyn accepted his advent with unqualified
approval, and remarked that he had "such a bene-
volent eye". Dixon, of course, was beaming with
satisfaction. Miriam hovered on the doorstep in a
state of agitated enthusiasm. And altogether it
seemed as if I had accomplished something creditable.
Self-satisfied and proprietary, I stroked the old horse's
neck, and felt as though in him, at least, I had an
ally against the arrogance of the world which so
often oppressed me with a sense of my inferiority.
But the red-letter day was also a lawyer's letter day.
My complacency was modified by Mr. Pennett's
reply, which arrived in the evening. When I had
carried it upstairs and digested it I had an uncomfort-
able feeling that the schoolroom was still the school-
room in spite of its new and more impressive name.