Rita had apparently forgotten the storm of the day before. She was in high good humour, and greeted Margaret with effusion.
"Just in time, Marguerite. Where have you been? We have called till we are hoarse. Look at us; we go to ride. We are to have an exhibition of skill, on the back of the white beast. Behold our costumes, found in the garret."
Margaret looked, and laughed and admired. Rita was dressed in a long black velvet riding-habit, with gold buttons, a regal garment in its time, but now somewhat rubbed and worn; a tall hat of antique form perched upon her heavy braids, and she looked very businesslike. Peggy had found no such splendour, but had put on a scarlet military coat over her own bicycle skirt. "Finery is good," she said, "but not on horseback." A three-cornered hat, with the mouldering remains of a feather, completed her costume, and she announced herself as the gentleman of the party.
"Rita was saying what a pity it was there were no boys here, and I told her I ought to have been a boy, and I would do my best now," said Peggy good-naturedly. Rita made a little grimace, as if this were not the kind of boy she desired, but she nodded kindly at Peggy, and said she was "fine."
"And you, Marguerite? How will you appear? Will you find a cap and spectacles, and come as our grandmother? That would approve itself, n'est-ce-pas?" It was laughingly said, but the sting was there, nevertheless, and was meant to be felt.
"Oh, I should delay you," replied Margaret. "Let me come as I am, and be ringmaster, or audience, or whatever you like. I never rode in my life, you know." Peggy opened wide her eyes, Rita curled her lip, but Margaret only laughed. "Frightful, isn't it? but how would you have me ride in my father's study? And the horses that went by our windows had mostly drays behind them, so they were not very tempting. Is William going to saddle White Eagle for you, girls?"
"William has gone to the mill, or to bed, or somewhere," said Peggy. "I am going to saddle him myself. John Strong said I might."
They went out to the great, pleasant barn, and while Peggy saddled the good horse, Rita and Margaret mounted the old swing, and went flying backward and forward between the great banks of fragrant hay.
"Isn't it good to be a swallow?" said Margaret. "I wonder if we shall really fly some day; it really seems as if we might."
"I would rather be an eagle," said Rita. "To flutter a little, here and there, and sleep in a barn,—that would not be a great life. An eagle, soaring over the field of battle,—aha! he is my bird! But what is this outcry? Has he bitten thee, Peggy?"