"Do tell me what is the matter," says I to a gentleman that cousin had just introduced to me, "everybody is so excited."
"Yes," says he, "all on the keyvive."
What queer names they do have for horses. Alarm had just come in ahead, and now Keyvive.
"What kind of a horse is the Keyvive?" says I.
He didn't seem to hear me. No wonder, for that very minute five horses, with such nice-looking fellows on their backs, took a start, like a flock of wild deer, and went up the road so swift that before I could see them they were gone.
"It is the hurdle-race," says the same gentleman, "splendid—splendid; what a leap!"
His eyes were bright as stars; they fairly danced in his head.
I sprang up, for a great wind seemed to be rushing around the hill. Then I gave a scream, for some wicked person had built a fence right across the road, and those five horses were galloping like mad right toward it.
"Oh, stop them—stop them—for mercy's sake!" says I, a-clasping my hands, and pleading wildly to every one around. "They'll be killed—they don't see that awful fence."
While I was screaming, the whole five horses came, one after another, sailed right over the fence, dived down like hen-hawks after a chicken, and away toward another fence that choked up the road. Before I could shriek out, and warn them, over they came, like a whirlwind, without touching the fence or seeming to care—over, and away up the road, taking one's breath with them.