"Papa, mamma!" gasped Ferdy, with a sort of choke in his throat, and for a moment—what with the delight, and the sudden opening of his eyes in the strong clear sunshine—he felt half dazed. "Papa, mamma, a pony of my very own! And Chrissie can ride him too. He is a pony a girl can ride too, isn't he?" with a touch of anxiety.
"He is very gentle, and he has no vices at all," said his father. "I am quite sure Chrissie will be able to ride him too. But you must get to know him well in the first place."
Ferdy was out on the drive by this time, his face rosy with delight, as he stood by his father patting and petting the pretty creature. The pony was all saddled and bridled, ready for Ferdy to mount and ride "over the hills and far away." The boy glanced up at Mr. Ross, an unspoken request trembling on his lips.
"Yes," said his father, seeing it there and smiling. "Yes, you may mount him and ride up and down a little. He'll be all right," he added, turning to the coachman, who had been standing by and enjoying the whole as much as any of them.
"Oh yes, sir. He's a bit eager, but as gentle as a lamb," the man replied.
"And this afternoon," Ferdy's father continued, "if I can get home between four and five, I'll take you a good long ride—round by Durnham and past by Mellway Sight, where you have so often wanted to go."
"Oh, papa," was all Ferdy could get out.
Merton meanwhile had been examining the stirrup straps.
"They're about the right length for you, I think, sir," he said, and then in a moment Ferdy was mounted.
Pony pranced about a little, just a very little,—he would not have seemed a real live pony if he had not,—but nothing to mind. Indeed, Ferdy, to tell the truth, would have enjoyed a little more. The coachman led him a short way along the drive, but then let go, and Ferdy trotted to the gates in grand style and back again.