"Not extra," he answered, in an aggravating tone—first looking up at the windows to be sure that none of the family were near; "think the girth's 'most broke; 't ain't worth while to be too pertickler."
"Yes, it is; you'd better make sure of saddle and bridle too, I can tell you. Miss Dorry'll ride twenty miles, and more, before sundown."
"Well, well!" exclaimed Sailor Jack, still bent on teasing her. "Hadn't you better come down, Mistress Blum, an' see to it that the pony's legs is on good and tight? It would be dreadful if one on 'em was to tumble off, now."
Lydia laughed. "Oh, but you're a funny man, Mister Jack! Well, I needn't worry. You're even worse about Miss Dorry than I am, bless her!—Hush, here they are!"
Off went Jack's hat, though he had to hold the two bridle-reins with one hand to accomplish it.
"Up-a-daisy!" he exclaimed, as Dorry, assisted by Donald, sprang lightly to her saddle. "It's a splendid day for a ride, Miss!"
"Yes, indeed," said Dorry, looking about her with bright, happy eyes, as she stroked her pony's neck.
Uncle George came out upon the piazza. By this time Don was on Yankee's back, dexterously making him appear as spirited as possible; whereat Dorry's steed began to prance also.
"Good-by, Uncle! Good-by, Jack and Liddy!" cried Dorry, waving her whip and looking back with a smiling face.
"Good-by!" shouted Don; and they cantered off—glad to be together, glad to breathe the bright, clear air, glad at the prospect of a good gallop over the hills.