"Would your Mother's go on you?"

"Might," and Dave spat into the fire.

"Anyway," Dad went on, "we must have a go at this handicap with the old
mare; it's worth trying for, and, believe me, now! she'll surprise a few
of their flash hacks, will Bess."

"Yairs, she can go all right." And Dave spat again into the fire.

" GO! I've never known anything to keep up with her. Why, bless my soul,
seventeen years ago, when old Redwood owned her, there was n't a horse in
the district could come within coo-ee of her. All she wants is a few
feeds of corn and a gallop or two, and mark my words she'll show some of
them the way."

Some horse-races were being promoted by the shanty-keeper at the
Overhaul--seven miles from our selection. They were the first of the kind
held in the district, and the stake for the principal event was five
pounds. It was n't because Dad was a racing man or subject to turf
hallucinations in any way that he thought of preparing Bess for the
meeting. We sadly needed those five pounds, and, as Dad put it, if the
mare could only win, it would be an easier and much quicker way of making
a bit of money than waiting for a crop to grow.

Bess was hobbled and put into a two-acre paddock near the house. We put
her there because of her wisdom. She was a chestnut, full of villainy, an
absolutely incorrigible old rogue. If at any time she was wanted when in
the grass paddock, it required the lot of us from Dad down to yard her, as