“I believe you, Grandson of Abdallah. You are to go by yonder gate through the lane to the great road. From there it is a mile and a half to the gate that opens on the avenue, leading to the house of the White-haired Master. At that gate I shall await you. Then up the avenue to the house you are to go, and three times around the boxwood circle where the avenue ends.”
“So it shall be, Son of Ben Ali. Have you not carried a noggin of water on my back and set me at a gallop without spilling a drop? So it shall be now, Son of Ben Ali.”
Aaron went into the stable and came forth with a halter. This he threw on Timoleon’s head, passing the loose end over the horse’s neck and tying it in the ring, thus forming reins for the rider to handle. Then he folded a heavy blanket four times, placed it on the horse’s back, and strapped it down with a surcingle.
“Not too tight—not too tight, Son of Ben Ali,” said Timoleon, backing his ears a little.
“Now, then, for a ride,” said Aaron, turning to the children.
“Oh, I’m afraid!” cried Sweetest Susan. “Mamma would be angry.”
“Try him here, in the lot,” suggested Aaron to Buster John.
Now Buster John was a pretty good rider for a youngster, and was somewhat proud of the fact. He had even helped to break a young mule to the saddle. So, after a little persuasion, he allowed Aaron to lift him to Timoleon’s back.
“Easy, now,” said Aaron.