Then Mr. Tweed brought out the most unruly horse he had, which none of the English or German grooms could mount. Mr. Brent advanced cautiously, and with a few coaxing words got the horse to stand quiet long enough for him to pass his hand caressingly over his neck. But putting the saddle on him was another matter; the horse absolutely refused to be saddled. So what did our American friend do but give one mighty spring and land on the horse's bare back. He dug his strong legs into the sides of the horse, and though the horse kicked and plunged for a while, it succumbed finally and was brought in tame and meek.
Nothing could have pleased the Count more than this, and the rest of us were lost in admiration.
Mr. Brent invited all the stable-boys en bloc to come over to America to see him; he guessed he "and the boys could teach them a trick or two."
After luncheon Mr. Brent wanted us all to come out on the lawn to be photographed, particularly the Countess, and said to the young Count, "You tackle the missis [meaning the Countess], and I'll get the others."
Of course no one refused. How could we resist such a charmer? Who could ever have believed that this simple, unaffected youth could have so completely won all hearts?
He said to the Countess while "fixing" her for the group, "I wanted you, because you remind me so of my dear old mother." The Countess actually purred with ecstasy; but I don't think she would have liked to be compared to any "old" thing (mother or not) by anybody else. In this case she merely looked up at him and smiled sweetly, and as for the blasé, stately Count, he simply would not let him out of his sight.
At last the group was arranged according to Mr. Brent's ideas; the host and hostess in the center, while the others clustered around them.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, please look pleasant," said Mr. Brent, and we all took the attitude we remembered to have looked well in on some former occasion, and hoped we looked "pleasant," and that "mother," when contemplating us, would approve of us.
The Count's birthday happened to be on one of these days. Mr. Brent, who had intended to leave, was urged by both him and the Countess to stay. The young Count said, "Papa would be really unhappy if you went away." "That's real nice of him; you bet I'll stay, then." On the day itself he was all- pervading. It was he who hung the heavy garlands and wreaths on the highest poles, agile as a cat, and draped the flags about the escutcheons placed everywhere. He helped the ladies arrange the flowers in the innumerable vases in the salons. He it was who led the applause when the deputation of young people from the village made their speech, and when the Count responded, in his most dignified and courtly manner, Mr. Brent cried out, in a most enthusiastic voice, "Good for you!"
In the evening there were visits from all the surrounding neighborhood; the ladies wore tiaras and all their jewels, and the gentlemen all their decorations; there was a grand supper in the state dining-room. Although I suppose it was the first time Mr. Brent had ever seen such a sight, he did not seem in the least astonished. He circulated about the distinguished company and made himself most agreeable indiscriminately to young and old. He was in full glory, and certainly was the life of the evening, which finished brilliantly with a grand display of fireworks set off from the tower, so that they could be seen from far and near.