“You really have an uncommonly good seat, Tom,” observed his friend; “only remember to turn your toes in, and keep your bridle hand low, and you’ll do—you’ve plenty of pluck, and when you’ve acquired a little more judgment and experience, you’ll be able to ‘hold your own’ across a country with some of the best of ’em.
“Ah, shouldn’t I like to go out hunting, that’s all?” exclaimed the boy eagerly.
“Have you never done so,” inquired his friend.
“No; I tried it on last winter, but the Governor cut up rough, and wouldn’t stand it.”
“Can you sit a leap?” asked Harry.
“I believe you, rayther, just a very few,” was the confident reply.
“Well, you must come to Coverdale, in the Christmas holidays, and I’ll mount you and take you out with me; I mean to get up a stud, and hunt regularly this season,” observed Harry.
“Won’t that be jolly, just?—I’ll come whether they’ll let me or not, depend upon it; but now this is the last grass field, let’s have a race for a wind up.” So saying, Master Tom laid his whip smartly across his pony’s shoulder, and dashed off, while Coverdale, gradually giving his spirited but perfectly broken horse the rein, soon overtook him. A brushing gallop of five minutes brought them to the border of the field, which was surrounded by a ditch and bank, with a sufficiently high rail at top to constitute an awkward leap.
“How are we going to find our way out?” inquired Harry.
“Get off, pull down a rail, and then jump it,” was the reply.