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Hugh did not hear the last words. He was off, out into the open, racing across the pitch to the horse-lines, a flying figure of joy. Tinker was at the end of the line. He had finished his feed and was standing patiently, perhaps dreaming of other days, when he heard the racing feet. He looked up, giving a low whinny.

Hugh's arms were round his neck; his voice, low and eager, saying all that had been pent up for so long. Mrs. Dan, looking from the blue caravan, saw the yellow head against the black, and gave a delighted whistle.

"Well!" she breathed. "Where's the eggs, Nita? I guess we'11 make Daddy one of his pet omeiets!"