“Trot!”
Away he went, snorting and tossing his head, throwing his rider up at every stride of his long-legs right round the school, and Dick nipped the animal’s sides with his knees, doing his best to keep his seat when the word “Halt!” should ring out; but, to his surprise, the horse went on past the group and passed again for another round.
Then came the order; the horse stopped short.
“Sit easy!” shouted the sergeant. “Make much of your horse. Sit easy!” he cried again, for Dick had not moved. “Pat your horse, sir; pat your horse.”
Dick obeyed now, and the sergeant went on giving him instructions about his seat, and opening his crutch, getting his elbows in, and heels down.
“Sit well upright, sir, but not stiff as a ramrod. A good rider ought to be like a part of his horse.”
And so on, and so on, for a few minutes, while the lieutenant looked on sternly without uttering a word, frowning severely the while.
“Attention!” shouted the sergeant again, as if he were addressing a squad of recruits; and once more the walking and trotting were gone through. There was another rest, some repetition of instructions, all of which Dick, a soldier by training, listened to in silence, and fixed as well as he could upon his memory.
But an hour had nearly gone by, and he was growing tired, while sundry internal hints suggested that breakfast would be acceptable. The lesson was not at an end, though. “Attention” was called, and the horse started again at a walk.
“Going to try him at the gallop?” said Wyatt softly.