Friday came, and true to his promise, Frank Clavers ordered two horses in the room of one. It was a glorious afternoon, and as we leaped into the saddle, I felt a pride in being able to rein in and manage my horse handsomely. He was a fine-spirited animal, that Esquire Clavers kept for his own use. It was to oblige Frank, of course, that I was permitted this little indulgence.
Riding was the only thing perhaps that I could do well, and this I had learned at Mr. Jeffries’, and I knew that here I was superior to the other boys. So with a questionable pride I cantered round the grounds, and raised my cap as I passed the young ladies at the window. I enjoyed, as I never had done before, the idea of doing something well; and I have since learned, what I did not know then, that skill in horsemanship is considered by all no mean accomplishment.
“That was handsomely done,” said Frank. “Pray where did you learn to ride so well?”
“You never knew perhaps that I lived two years with Mr. Jeffries. My business was to assist in the stable. It was there I learned to ride.”
What a race we had down the street, and how Frank’s gay laugh resounded through the valley.
“This is something to look forward to, Marston,” said he as we reined up at his own door. “I have never seen Hunter carry himself better. It’s all because you know how to ride. Next week we’ll have just such another ride. It’s glorious.”
“I have enjoyed it intensely,” I answered, while a secret sense of shame crept over me at the idea of being puffed up because I could ride, when in my books I knew so very little; and for that evening I studied harder because of my foolishness.
