We used to muster them twice a week, run 'em up into the big receiving yard, and have a regular good look over 'em till we knew every one of 'em like a book.
Some of 'em was worth looking at, my word! 'D'ye see that big upstanding three-year-old dark bay filly, with a crooked streak down her face,' Starlight would say, 'and no brand but your father's on.

Do you know her name?
That's young Termagant, a daughter of Mr.Rouncival's racing mare of the same name that was stolen a week before she was born, and her dam was never seen alive again.

Pity to kill a mare like that, wasn't it?
Her sire was Repeater, the horse that ran the two three-mile heats with Mackworth, in grand time, too.' Then, again, 'That chestnut colt with the white legs would be worth five hundred all out if we could sell him with his right name and breeding, instead of having to do without a pedigree.

We shall be lucky if we get a hundred clear for him.

The black filly with the star--yes, she's thoroughbred too, and couldn't have been bought for money.