Cassowary did not smile. She was as sober as a judge.
"Back up, Pony," she said, and she showed Dallas how to lift the shafts and buckle straps until I and my smart tan harness were firmly attached to the cart.
"Now, jump in," she said, "box seat. Take the reins or as you, I suppose, would call them, the lines. Not that way. Here change your fingers—reins held in left hand, right free for take-back or whip."
"And would you whip this beautiful little creature?" asked Dallas in a shocked voice.
"Not I—I'm merely teaching you form—near rein over your forefinger, off rein between middle and ring fingers. Grip reins by edges, not by flat sides."
"Am I really driving?" asked Dallas in an astonished voice as I turned them smoothly out to the road.
"Looks like it," she said.
Happy in having no blinds I could cast a glance back toward the proud and delighted boy.
"Don't look so nervous," said Cassowary. "That pony could go it alone. Tighten your reins though. If he were a stumbler down he would go. It's hard lines you couldn't have had this fun sooner. If I were Queen I'd give every boy and girl a pony and a dog."
"I feel as if I were in heaven," said Dallas in an awed voice.