“Never learned to ride? No, of course not,” said the doctor. “Riding was not included in the range of studies at the Friary.”
“But we boys used to catch the donkeys on the common of an evening, and mount them.”
“Oh, come,” cried the doctor; “then you can ride a donkey?”
“Sometimes, father,” said Nic, laughing. “They often used to send us off.”
“Kicking?”
“It was hardly kicking, father. One I used to try and ride would stand perfectly still till I was on and tried to make him go, and then he used to bring all his legs close together, put his head down, arch up his back, and somehow or other, when he began to dance about, we always got shot off, and came down on our backs. You never saw anything so queer.”
“Oh! yes, I have,” said the doctor drily, “often. Our horses here have that bad habit, and we call it buck jumping, for it is very much the action of a bounding deer. Have you been pitched off like that more than once?”
“Oh! yes, father; scores, perhaps hundreds of times,” said Nic, laughing.
“Come then, you will not be afraid to mount this horse, and I dare say I can soon teach you to ride. It’s too late now, or I’d give you a lesson.”
He closed the door of the shed, went back to the waggon, where the younger man was on the top straining at a rope, and the elder giving orders, while the black was squatting down and looking on. Here a few words of instruction were given, and a question or two asked about the flour barrels and bacon.