One of the ponies raised its head, stretched out its neck in the direction of the extended hand, and trotted up.
“These mealies are rather a hard bite for them, sir, but this lot are very fond of a taste, and I let them have one now and then; but of course you will always have a few sacks handy.—Now, young gentlemen, try this one,” and he poured some of the golden grain into Mark’s hand. “You too, sir,” he continued, and he brought out some more to trickle into Dean’s.
There was no doubt so far in the tameness of the two ponies, which fed quietly enough from the boys’ hands and submitted to being handled, patted and held by their thick forelocks or manes.
By this time the dealer’s messenger had returned with a couple of halters.
“Missis can’t find a horse rug,” said the man surlily.
“Never mind; we can do without, I daresay. But just be on the lookout, and if you see my Browne send him to me. Now then, gentlemen, like to try barebacked?”
“Yes,” said Mark; and as soon as a halter had been thrown over one of the ponies’ heads the dealer handed the end to him.
“Oh, come,” he said, “not the first time you have been on a pony;” for Mark held up one leg, which the man took in his hand and gave him a hoist; and the boy making a spring at the same time dropped on the pony’s glossy back, but like vaulting ambition overleaped himself and rolled over on the other side, startling the pony into making off. But the dealer made a snatch at the halter, just in time, and it stopped short, snorting.
“Hurt, my boy?” cried Sir James, anxiously.
“No, father; only vexed,” said the boy, dusting the sand from his flannels. “Now then,” he continued, to the dealer, “you hoisted me too hard.”