So we didn't see her again.
So it was this young lady that we saw coming tearing down the back road, as they called it, that led over the Pretty Plain.

A good way behind we saw Mr.Falkland, but he had as much chance of coming up with her as a cattle dog of catching a 'brush flyer'.
The stable boy, Billy Donnellan, had told us (of course, like all those sort of youngsters, he was fond of getting among the men and listening to them talk) all about Miss Falkland's new mare.
She was a great beauty and thoroughbred.

The stud groom had bought her out of a travelling mob from New England when she was dog-poor and hardly able to drag herself along.

Everybody thought she was going to be the best lady's horse in the district; but though she was as quiet as a lamb at first she had begun to show a nasty temper lately, and to get very touchy.

'I don't care about chestnuts myself,' says Master Billy, smoking a short pipe as if he was thirty; 'they've a deal of temper, and she's got too much white in her eye for my money.