"A nice bit of blood, that," remarked the blacksmith, who had been summoned to look at her shoes before she started, and was now with other idlers lingering about the door to witness the traveller's departure; "but them high bred critturs ar'n't fit for the road—it shakes the bones out of their bodies."
"It do," returned the ostler—" It knocks 'em to pieces. Two years on the road tells sadly agen a oss. She's shook in the shoulder, surely, sin I seen her last. She was a nice crittur then."
"What, she's an old acquaintance o' yours Jem, is she?" said the blacksmith, winking to the bystanders—for Jem was famous for his recognition of the animals intrusted to his care.
"I never forgets a oss," replied Jem. "We Newmarket lads never do, none on us. Bless you! they be a deal more memorable like than Christ'ans, to them as is used to them. She was a nice crittur two years agone. She won a sweepstakes of a hundred guineas agen some of the best cattle on the course—I mean to say them as wasn't quite thorough-bred, but she's good blood in her too."
"And did she belong to this here chap then?"
