He touched his hat.

"How's the mare to-day, Akers?" asked Sir Edmund.

"Nicely, nicely; it's a splendid mash that, Sir Edmund. Old Hartley gave
me the recipe for that. He was stud-groom here longer than I have been,
in the old lord's day. He had hoped to have had his son to follow him,
but the lad got wild, and it couldn't be."

The old man sighed, and changed the conversation. "Will you come round
again, sir?"

"Yes," said Edmund; "I don't mind if I do. But you've got a son of your
own about the stable, haven't you?" he asked, as they turned towards the
other side of the yard.

"I had two, Sir Edmund," was the brief and melancholy answer. "Jimmy's
here, but the lad I thought most on, he went and enlisted in the war,
and he couldn't settle down again after that. Jimmy, he'll never rise to
my place--it would not be fair, and I wouldn't let his lordship give it
a thought--but the other one might have done it."

Sir Edmund felt some sympathy for the stay-at-home, whom he knew. "He
seems a cheerful, steady fellow."

"He's steady enough, and he's cheerful enough," said his father, in a
tone of great contempt; "but the other lad had talent--he had talent."

Both men had paused in the interest of their talk.