Merle came up to Dick just as they were preparing to go home.
"I say," she said, speaking with an effort, "you can ride Olaf home if you like."
"Thanks awfully," Dick returned in astonishment. "But I'm all right on Agility—and I know you like Olaf better than anything."
She hesitated, flushing.
"I'd like you to try him." Suddenly it came to Dick that it would hurt her to be refused.
"All right, it's jolly good of you," he said awkwardly. "Come on, and I'll change the saddles."
Merle helped at that, slipping her saddle off her own pony, and bestowing upon him a surreptitious little pat. No one but herself ever rode him; she knew every inch of him, even, she herself believed, to his thoughts. Nothing would have made Merle agree that horses did not think. She wondered, rather miserably now, what his views were on being handed over to a stranger.
"I've got to," she whispered to him, "for being a pig!"
Dick did not understand anything of this; boy-like, he rather fancied that Merle was offering him her pony to show off his perfections. It would have interested him more to ride Agility; but, being as good-natured as he was dense in these fine matters, he got up on Olaf good temperedly, and had to admit that he was a far more finished hack than his previous mount. Merle looked pleased at his praise.
"He is lovely, isn't he?" she asked. "Daddy bought him at the Perth show; he's won lots of prizes. He and I are awful good mates."