But right in the middle of the road, between them and the fir-tree, was something neither of them had seen;—a huge tree just fallen, with its high, prickly branches on.
"Jerusalem!" said Mr. Francis, under his breath as the colt pricked up his ears ominously.
"Oh, good! here's a jump," cried Gypsy, and over it she went at a bound. The colt reared and shied, and planting his dainty forefeet firmly on the ground, refused to stir an inch. Gypsy whirled around and stood triumphant under the fir-tree, her eyes snapping merrily.
"Why, how did this ever happen?" cried the rest, as they came laughing up.
"I say, there's some witchcraft about this business," remarked Mr. Francis, quite bewildered; "wait till I've cleared off these branches, and we'll try that over again."
"Very well," said Gypsy, in a perfect whirl of excitement and delight, as she always was, with anything in the shape of reins in her hand. But just then she looked back and saw Joy toiling on slowly behind the others; Billy with his head hanging and his spirits quite gone. Gypsy stopped a moment as if in thought, and then rode slowly down the hill.
"I'm having a horrid time," said Joy disconsolately, as she came up; "Billy is as stupid as a mule, and won't go."
"I'm real sorry," said Gypsy, slowly; "you might have Nelly. We'll change awhile."
"No," said Joy, "I'm afraid of Nelly. Besides, you wouldn't like Billy any better than I do. It's dreadfully stupid back here alone, though. I wish I hadn't come."
"Francis," called Gypsy, "I guess I won't race, I'm going to ride with Joy awhile."