“But that isn’t to be thought of,” cried Fortescue. “I have several horses at Rosehill, and I can give you a mount. Birdseye, that I rode over here, is the gentlest and kindest horse that ever stepped. Although not a regular hunter, she can get along the road and over the fences all right.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Betty, jumping up, “do let me see her! Granddaddy, may I ride Birdseye to-morrow morning?”
The Colonel hesitated a moment.
“I should require, my love,” he said, “to see Birdseye. Perhaps she has never had a side-saddle on her, or known what a riding-skirt is.”
“We can try her,” suggested Fortescue.
Betty ran out into the little hall, and, picking up a red scarf, threw it over her head, calling back to the Colonel:
“Don’t you dare, Granddaddy, to come out on the porch. You can see from the window.”
Fortescue was not a foot behind Betty, and they both ran to where Birdseye, dancing to keep herself warm, stood under a great holly tree. From the kitchen window peeped a little round, black face.
“We can try Birdseye with that little black boy,” said Fortescue. “She wouldn’t hurt a baby.”
Betty beckoned to Kettle, who came out willingly enough, his constitutional grin over-spreading his face.