April was half gone, and till then the weather had been cold; but that morning came one of those sudden changes which seem like summer warmth gone astray. The snow-patches melted swiftly, the frozen sidewalks thawed, and the whole earth became a bed of softest mud, over which Steenie pursued her sticky way, too intent upon her other surroundings to notice what went on beneath her feet.
“How the birds sing! There are more birds here than at San’ Felisa, I do b’lieve. And the sun shines a’most as bright. Dear me! I wish I’d worn my hat—but never mind. This shawl’s awful hot. I’ll take it off an’ lay it on the fence. Hm-m. How funny! Everybody has a big white house an’ a little white railing around it, an’ that’s all. But it looks pleasant down that road. I wish Tito was here. Dear, darling Tito! It seems—”
“Whooa! Whooa! I say! Hold—on—don’t—whooa-a!”
Steenie turned swiftly round. Down the street behind her galloped a wildly excited horse, with a little girl on his back; while following fast came a second beast, ridden by a terrified groom. The small equestrian had lost her control of her animal,—if control she had ever had,—and he had taken fright or become suddenly vicious; keeping just so far in advance of the pursuer as to avoid capture, and dancing upon his hind legs between whiles, in a manner inimical to any rider’s safety and doubly dangerous to one so young as she who still clung to her saddle, her fingers clasping the pommel in the rigidity of fear.
“Oh, he’s running away! The naughty fellow!”
Thought and action came together; for the very sound of a horse’s foot-fall had roused Steenie’s spirit to its full activity, even before she had turned to learn that the sound meant danger.
“Hola! Hola!” she cried softly, and bounded into the road; skimming the muddy surface like a swallow and racing as her old Indian friend, Wanka, had taught her in the games at Santa Felisa. She had thrown up her hand, warningly, to the groom, who, aghast at seeing a second child rush into peril, checked his own horse, almost unconsciously.
“That’s the wisest thing he could do! Why didn’t he stop before?” thought Steenie; “that little girl’s horse knew he was being chased, and—”
The small hands on the pommel were slowly slipping loose; but the fleet-footed westerner had gained the gray beast’s side, had sprung upon it, had thrown herself astride the quivering shoulders, and caught up the dangling bridle.
“Hold on to me, girl! Tight—my waist—I’ll take care—Hola, hola, my pretty one! Ce, ce, ce! Wouldst thou? But, no!”