"It's like a glacier," replied Boy.
"She could slide on that shoulder," commented Old Mat. "Like Napoleon on the Pyramids."
The young horse began to sidle and plunge.
"Right!" said Boy. "Stand clear!"
The little jockey jumped aside, and mounted Silvertail.
Four-Pound-the-Second gave a great bound. The girl rode him as a yacht rides the sea, swinging easily to his motion, and talking to him the while. He sprawled around with tiny bucks and little grunts of joy, brimming over with energy.
Then, as if by magic, he steadied down and began to walk round with that tremendous swing of his, blowing his nose, and playing with his bit. David had swept his hand across his harp and the dark spirit had been charmed away.
Old Mat nodded and said to himself: "Where it is, is there it is."
Nobody else spoke.
Boy, in her white shirt, her hair radiant against the dull heavens, began to feel at her horse's mouth.