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a rider. But that’s because her Dad says so. What her Dad says is always Gospel truth to Biddy.”

Not “Miss Biddy” then, thought Ann. He was only a servant, after all, this young man, but evidently he had his own ideas of service.

“Well, don’t you agree with Mr. Holmes and… Biddy?”

“Oh, there’s nothing much to choose between us. We’re both good with horses.”

No false pride about him! He didn’t trouble to deny self-evident facts.

“How long have you been here—on this station?” she asked.

“All my life. My father worked for old Holmes when I was just a little nipper.”

“Haven’t you ever been away?”

“Yes, I’ve been to Christchurch and Auckland—saw the Grand National in Christchurch last year.”

“Never out of New Zealand?”

Ah! That was tactless. His face hardened again. “He thinks I’m being patronizing,” she thought swiftly.

“New Zealand’ll do me,” he answered.

Very touchy, this young man! She must choose her phrases more carefully in future.

They passed through the gate, and it was closed behind them.

“Couldn’t I trot, now? Just for a little way—please let me trot.” He looked doubtful. “Oh, perhaps it wouldn’t be good for Nigger, I might hurt him.”

He grinned at this.

“He’s much more likely to hurt you.”

“But that doesn’t matter—one would never learn anything if one were afraid of being hurt.”