"I'd have ridden 'em right enough, if they'd let me get on 'em—but they wouldn't."
"And pray what was the Marshal about?" inquired the Queen.
"Well, he was laughing most of the time; it's my belief he'd had 'em all gingered up beforehand."
"I'm quite sure, Clarence, he would be incapable of such conduct as that. Why should he?"
"I don't know," he said. "But I won't have him about again. I'll get some one else to teach me."
"But, my dear boy, nobody can teach you much if you can't even manage to get on a horse's back. You'll only get hurt if you try any more, and you will be far wiser to give it up altogether."
"Not much, Mater!" he declared; "I'm not so easily bested as all that. Now I've begun I mean to go on with it."
And he went on; for, to do Clarence justice, want of pluck was not among his defects. But he was obliged to admit that the Marshal was not fairly accountable for the horses' behaviour, since they were quite as unmanageable when he was no longer there.
They were spirited creatures, but perfectly docile until they caught sight of Clarence, when they immediately became as vicious as the most untameable bronco. If he contrived occasionally to get hoisted into the saddle, he never remained there long enough to put the Royal Chief Huntsman's instructions into practice, and he began at last to have serious doubts whether Nature had ever intended him to shine as a horseman.
He said nothing of these ignominious experiences to Daphne, partly because he never found an opportunity, though more from a fear of being laughed at. But he could not keep them from his family, and so Daphne came to hear of his repeated failures through Princess Ruby. She did not laugh at them, however; she was even a little touched. She thought more of him for his attempts to follow her unlucky suggestion than if he had never attempted anything at all, and fully believed that if he persevered he would conquer in the end.