“Why not? We have time, and I like the hill there. It’s so nice for a canter,” Terry went on.
“Certainly. Whatever you say,” Dick agreed, with just a shade of reluctance, it would seem.
Their horses were led out, and Dick gave each of the girls a “leg up.” Stirrups were adjusted, and away they cantered.
Dick was a very proper young groom. He gave them a little trotting, some walking, and just enough cantering. A good horseman, he sagely observed, never allowed his animal to get overheated, but saw to it that there was the proper amount of exercise for himself and his beast.
Walking the horses, they reached the end of the paved highway and were soon upon the dirt road that wound around through a stretch of woodland into Jockey Hollow, a Revolutionary historic section just outside Pentville, which, though it was so comparatively near, had seldom been visited by Sim and her two chums. It was a lovely wooded place, containing, now and then, a cleared field. With Jockey Hollow in prospect, a pleasant ride was assured the little party, and, though they did not know it, the girls were to begin a strange adventure.
Now well out into the open, the horses suddenly, of their own accord, broke into a trot with Sim and Terry in the lead. Arden followed with Dick. The day was cool for December, and the horses seemed to feel frisky. They liked it.
“Don’t let him get going too fast, Miss Westover,” called the groom as he watched Sim. “We take that left turn.”
Sim pulled her horse up, and Terry also stopped. They looked back at Arden and Dick to make sure of the direction to take next. Dick smiled and pointed to a lane leading down a hill. Sim and Terry went that way but more slowly.
“This is a new way,” Arden said. “Do you know that road?”
Dick smiled slyly as he said, “I ought to. I live down there.”