But some horses, after submitting to a degree of insult, will have their revenge. Mr. Kerchey's thought he would try what virtue there was in running away. Thanks to his feet, thrust ankle-deep in the stirrups, the rider kept his seat this time, but he could not manage the reins and keep his hold of the saddle at the same time. He went by the amazed party of equestrians on the speed of the wind. The horse turned up to the meeting-house, and made for one of the sheds.
"He'll break his head!" cried Sarah, terrified at the mischief she had done, reining up to Chester's side.
Chester spurred forward, to do what he could to avert so uncomfortable an accident. But already Mr. Kerchey saw his danger, and pulled the bridle with his left hand, still clinging to the saddle with his right. The horse was sufficiently under control to obey the direction. He described a beautiful curve, and went around the meeting-house, reappearing on the opposite side of the green.
The immediate danger passed, the spectators began to laugh. Mr. Kerchey reminded Jane Dustan of the celebrated monkey, Andrew Jackson, who rode the pony in the circus-ring "last fourth of July." Mr. Kerchey's performance was more public. He rode in view of the whole neighborhood, his hat off, his feet thrown behind, in the stirrups, his hands still holding on desperately. Around the meeting-house he went again, faster than before. A third time the horse consented to perform the amusing evolution, then rebelled. Wheeling suddenly, he threw Mr. Kerchey sprawling into a black puddle of indescribable water, near one of the sheds.
It was well for both horse and rider that the latter had instinctively extricated his feet from the stirrups. As it was, the animal, more indignant, it seemed, than terrified, quietly turned under the shed, and stopped.
A magnificent splashing of the water celebrated Mr. Kerchey's descent into the element. He came down like an immense frog, with outstretched arms and legs, sublime. But like anything else than a frog he began to scramble and gasp, and flounder in the puddle.
Chester dashed to the spot, dismounted, and helped him out.
To describe the ludicrous appearance of the strangling, drenched, muddy, hatless equestrian, or the effect it had upon the convulsed spectators, would be superfluous. With the exception of Chester, only Miss Sedley, a young lady of the finest feelings, and Sarah, whose conscience upbraided her for the mischief she had done, were at all able to control their mirth.
"Take me—somewhere!" gasped Mr. Kerchey seeking his handkerchief, to wipe his streaming face. "I'm—hurt. My shoulder—Oh!"
"You haven't put any bones out, I hope?" said Chester.