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“Aren’t you afraid?”

“I don’t think so—I’ll have to find out. Do let me.”

“What about your foot?”

“Oh, it’s ever so much better: Look!”

She stuck her foot in the stirrup leather above the iron, and leaned her weight on it.

“That scarcely hurts at all now. Mayn’t I go a little faster?”

“All right,” he said grudgingly. “Walk him up to that stump—turn round and trot back to me. And don’t pull him round just with the bridle. Let him feel your knee and the swing of your body. Riding’s mostly balance. No! don’t bother about the stirrups. It’s dangerous putting your feet in the leathers, you’d be dragged if you fell off. Hang on with your knees and if you’re feeling very unsafe catch hold of the front of the saddle.”

She did as she was told—reached the stump, turned round and trotted back to him. It was a very undignified performance. She bumped up and down prodigiously; and alas! she was compelled to cling for safety to the saddle; but she reached him without mishap, flushed and laughing.

Though Rodney Marsh joined in her laughter, she felt no resentment. In fact she showed such sweet and childish gratitude to him for his kindness, that he was obliged to let her repeat the performance—again, and yet again. Then she pleaded to be allowed to canter. Against his better judgment Marsh consented.

Now she was flying towards him, bumping and tossing dangerously. Nigger, unused to this proceeding, took it as a signal to increase his speed. He was going at a hand-gallop as he passed Marsh; and in