Deio, the ostler, and Roberts, the farrier, agreed in their verdict for a wonder; and Caradoc Wynne, the owner of the horse, straightened himself from his stooping posture with a nod of decision.
"Yes, it's quite plain I mustn't ride him to-night," he said.

"Well, I'll leave him under your care, Roberts, and will either come or send for him to-morrow." "Needn't do that, sir," said Roberts, "for I am going myself to Abersethin on Friday; that will give him one day's complete rest, and I'll bring him up gently with my nag." "That will do better," said the young man.

"Take care of him, Deio," he added, in good, broad Welsh, "and I will pay you well for your trouble," and, with a pat on Captain's flank and a douceur in Deio's ready palm, he turned to leave the yard.

Looking back from under the archway which opened into the street, with a parting injunction to Roberts to "take care of him," he turned up the dusty High Street.
"Pagh!" he said, "it has been a jolly fair, but it hasn't sweetened the air.

However, I shall soon have left it behind me," and he stepped out briskly towards the straggling end of the street, which merged into a wild moorland country.
"_There's_ a difference between him and his father," said Deio to his companion, as they led Captain back to his stall.