Peggy carried a small linen bag. She opened it and instantly the air was filled with the soft, bubbling whinny with which a horse begs.
"Quiet, Meteor. Be patient, Don. Wait, Queen. Oh, Shashai, will you never learn manners?" she cried as her pet stretched his long neck and catching the little bag in his teeth snatched it from her hands, then, with all the delight of a child who has played a clever trick, away he dashed across the paddock.
"Shashai! Shashai, how dare you! Halt!" she called after him, but the graceful creature had no idea of halting.
For a moment Peggy looked at her guests very much as a baffled schoolmistress might look in the event of her pupil's open defiance, then cried:
"This will never, never do. If he disobeys me once I shall never be able to do anything with him again. Please excuse me a moment. I must catch him."
"Are you in the habit of chasing whirlwinds?" asked Mrs. Harold laughing.
"You must be able to run faster than most people," laughed Polly, but even as she spoke Peggy cried:
"Star! Star! Come." And out from the group slipped a superb chestnut. He came close to the girl, slipping his beautiful head across her shoulder and nestling against her face with the affection of a child. She clasped her arm up around the satiny neck and said softly:
"We must catch Shashai, Star," then turning like a flash, she rested one hand lightly upon his withers, gave a quick spring and sat astride the horse's back.
Polly gave a little cry and clasped her hands, her eyes sparkling with delight at this marvelous equestrian feat. Mrs. Harold was too amazed to speak.