Whether a name invented off-hand, however plain and sensible, does not
stick to a man as his father's does, is a question. But John Broom was
not often called by his.
With Scotch caution, the farm-bailiff seldom exceeded the safe title of
"Man!" and the parson was apt to address him as "My dear boy" when he
had certainly outgrown the designation.
Miss Betty called him John Broom, but the people called him by the name
he had earned.
And long after his black hair lay white and thick on his head, like snow
on the old barn roof, and when his dark eyes were dim in an honoured old
age, the village children would point him out to each other, crying,
"There goes Lob Lie-by-the-fire, the Luck of Lingborough!"
[Illustration]
WILD JACK.
CHAPTER I.
A series of accidents had overtaken the Newbury mail from the hour that
it started in the fine dewy morning, till the sun went down; and as the
twilight deepened over the landscape it was still many miles from its
destination.
The troubles began early in the day. One of the leaders cast a shoe, and
had to be shod at the first village through which they passed. Farther
on something went wrong with the harness, and later still a much more
serious impediment to their progress arose--some accident happened to a
wheel, so that the coach must needs go half-pace, in spite of the oaths
of old Joe, the driver, whose boast it was that he had never reached
Wancote later than midnight.
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