She managed to meet his eyes with a great effort.
"It was my fault," she said, speaking very low. "I mean, I worked to get you put on Sergeant. I told dad you couldn't ride."
"Well, I'm blessed!" said Dick, in utter astonishment—too amazed to be indignant. "But why?"
"I don't know." She flushed hotly. "Oh, because I'm a pig, I suppose. I'm sorry."
It would have taken more than Dick's easy-going nature could assume to be stern.
"Well, it doesn't matter, anyhow," he said. "You only made a mistake."
"No. I didn't make a mistake," Merle said shrilly. "I knew you could ride all right. I—I told you I was a pig!" A large tear rolled down her cheek, to her intense shame. She felt for a handkerchief, and, finding none, rubbed her cheek on Olaf's mane.
Dick pondered the situation gravely.
"I guess, if you're a pig, it hurts yourself more than anyone else," he said at length. "I say, why don't you knock off being one and be pals? I'll help."
At the moment he forgot altogether that he had no real desire to be "pals" with her at all. But no boy could help being rather sorry for this small, incomprehensible person, with the miserable face. And there was no doubt she could ride!