His father's hack was standing
away at the farther end of the paddock, and in an idle, thoughtless
way Bunty sauntered down towards it, and then sent his ball spinning
over the ground in its direction "to give it a jump." Nothing was
further from his thoughts than an idea of hurting the animal, and
when the ball struck it full on the leg, and it moved away limping,
he hastened down to it, white and anxious.
He could see he had done serious mischief by the way the poor
thing held its leg up from the ground and quivered when he touched
it. Terror seized him forthwith, and he turned hastily round with
his usual idea of hiding in his head. But to his utter dismay,
when he got half-way back across the paddock he saw his father and
a brother officer come out of the wicket gate leading from the
garden and saunter slowly down in the direction of the horse,
which was a valuable and beautiful one.
In terror at what he had done, he slipped the cricket ball into the
front of his sailor jacket, and, falling hurriedly upon his
knees, began playing an absorbing game of marbles. His trembling
thumb had hit about a dozen at random when he heard his name called
in stentorian tones.
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