"Well, he said yesterday he couldn't ride much," she said.
Mr. Warner looked surprised.
"Really?" he said. "I should have thought he'd be pretty useful on a horse—he must have had plenty of riding. Are you sure?"
"Well, I asked him, and he said, 'A little,' and afterwards he was saying he didn't feel anxious if he was on anything old and quiet." Merle's eyes did not meet her father's. She affected to be very interested in a black mare near her.
"Oh, if that's the case, he'd better have something of that kind," said her father, looking disappointed. "I wouldn't have thought he was like that. Let's see—he'd better have old Sergeant; he won't play any tricks with him, unless indeed he goes to sleep." He whistled to a man in the stable yard, who came across to them, and gave him the orders for O'Mara. "Nine o'clock sharp, mind," the squatter finished. "Come on, Merle. I want to go round the new Ayrshires before breakfast."
Merle trotted off beside her father, completely happy for the first time since they had left the station on their eastern trip. This was like old times, when he had always wanted her for his mate; before other places and other people—especially Dick Lester—had come between him and his well-worn routine. He talked away to her cheerily, pointing out the various beauties of the new Ayrshire heifers, and discussing station matters generally, just as he had been always wont to do. Merle's face lost its scowl, and became almost merry. As they turned back to breakfast she felt even charitable to Dick. After all, he would soon be gone back to Victoria, and then she and her father would settle down to the good old ways again.
It did not worry her at all that she had arranged a dull ride for Dick. Sergeant did not shine as a hack, she knew; he had been "general utility" horse so long, ridden by all sorts and conditions of people, black and white, that his paces had become curiously jumbled, and his one ardent desire was to pause and sleep. In her own heart Merle knew quite well that Dick could ride; he had talked to her of Tinker, his own beloved pony, and no one who had seen him handling the maddened bay mare the day before could have imagined that his preference was really for "something old and quiet." Partly she meant to "pay him out" for openly preferring O'Mara's company to hers; partly she wanted to keep him from mounting any further in her father's regard. "Daddy's quite silly enough about him as it is," was her mental comment. "He won't think half as much about him if he thinks he can't ride." Therefore she went cheerfully to breakfast, certain that Dick was not likely to shine on a horse on which Merle herself would have remarked that she would not be seen dead at a pig fair.
O'Mara meanwhile was puzzled. Certain questions put to Dick the day before had satisfied him that the boy could ride! He whistled in astonishment when the message came to him that Dick's mount was to be the ancient Sergeant. He rubbed the horse down himself, and saddled him, still pondering the matter. There was something he did not understand.
The horses stood ready saddled, tied to a fence in the shade of a row of grevillea trees, when Dick came out after breakfast. He was aching to be in the saddle; the milkman's pony had been his one means of a ride during the long winter term at school, and he longed to feel the creak of the leather and the movement of a good horse under him again. Meeting a stable-boy, he stopped him.
"Do you know which I'm to ride?"