"Why you are a rare deep one, guv'nor," he exclaimed; "that there game
is just like the canary dodge, what they do so well down Seven Dials
way. You ketches yer sparrer, and you paints him a lively yeller, and
then you sells him to your innocent customer for the finest canary as
ever wabbled in the grove--a little apt to be mopish at first, but
warranted to sing beautiful as soon as ever he gets used to his new
master and missus. And, oh! don't he just sing beautiful--not at all
neither."
"There's the bottle, Hawkins, and there's the brush. You know what
you've got to do."
"All right, guv'nor."
"Good night, then," said Victor, as he left the stable.
He did not stay to finish his cigar under the fast-falling snow; but
walked back to his own room, where he slept soundly.
He was astir very early the next morning. He went down stairs, after
breakfasting in his own room, saw the landlord, and hired a good strong
horse, commonly used by the proprietor of the "Cross Keys" on all his
journeys to and from the market-town and outlying villages.
Victor Carrington mounted this horse, and rode across the Common to the
village of Hallgrove.
He stopped to give his horse a drink of water before a village inn, and
while stopping to do this he asked a few questions of the ostler.
"Whereabouts is Hallgrove Rectory?" he asked.
"About a quarter of a mile farther on, sir," answered the man; "you
can't miss it if you keep along that road.
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