Hippy made a long, ungraceful dive over the lowered head of the native pony. At the side of the road there was a ditch with a full twelve inches of water flowing over a bottom of soft mud. Lieutenant Wingate landed on head and shoulders in the ditch. His feet pawed the air for a few seconds, then Hippy flopped over, with face down in the water and mud.
It was Elfreda Briggs who checked Hippy’s pony at the psychological moment, for the little fellow already had whirled preparatory to racing for home. As it was he dragged Elfreda along with him until Grace sprang to her assistance and threw her weight on the bit, at the same time talking soothingly to the animal whose stubborn resentment slowly melted. Elfreda led him back without help and stood holding the pony, waiting for Hippy to take charge of him.
Lieutenant Wingate was plastered with mud, which Nora was solicitously mopping from his face with her handkerchief.
“Let it dry on, then roll him on the grass when we find some,” suggested Emma.
“Yes, who coddled you when you fell out of a cloud and crashed down on the French front?” laughed Grace.
“I didn’t fall out,” protested Hippy indignantly, though a little thickly, for there was still mud in his mouth. “It was the other fellow who fell and crashed.”
“Come, take your pony,” urged Elfreda. “I have my own to look after. I would suggest, too, that if you will treat him right you will have little trouble with him.”
“You don’t have to take the brute’s part. I reckon I know how to handle a horse.”
“And you have a horse that knows how to handle you, if my observation is not at fault,” interjected Grace Harlowe.
Hippy acted upon Elfreda’s advice, however, petted the pony and offered it some candy, which the animal refused, and finally swung himself into the saddle.