Oliver’s gaze followed that of his father out of the window. There, on the smooth lawn, a spirited horse was acting in an exceedingly strange manner, throwing his head viciously from side to side.
“Donald has been whipping him again,” said Oliver. “He ought to know better.”
Mr. Bright did not reply. Springing from his chair, he hurried from the library, his son following.
In his day Mr. Bright had been quite a horseman, and Oliver, too, liked to ride. Both hated to see an animal abused, and both were excited over the present sight.
“Whoa! Jerry! whoa!” cried Mr. Bright, running up to the horse.
He caught the animal by the halter, which had been broken off rather short, and attempted to soothe him. But Jerry’s blood was up, and before Mr. Bright was aware he was thrown in the air and came down heavily against the grape arbor.
“Oh!” He gave a deep groan of pain. “Catch him, Oliver; but be careful about it.”
The boy was already advancing. He caught the halter, and then vaulted upon Jerry’s back.
For a moment there was a fierce struggle, but Oliver kept his seat, and feeling himself mastered, the horse subsided. Then the boy jumped to the ground and turned him over to the man of all work.