CHAPTER XIV.
And gentle hands the breakfast-rite begin,
Then the bright kettle sings its matin song.
Then fragrant clouds of Mocha and Souchong
Blend as they rise.
ROGERS.
“Who is that out there, leading the horse?” asked Agnes, with some anxiety.
The snowy linen and bright silver and china of the breakfast-table sparkle in the sunshine. At a corner, Violet and Katie sit before a covered tray, hastily taking their porridge; for the breakfast is much later than usual this morning, and the children are in great haste, lest they should be too late for school. Rose is working at the corner window—the new window, where the white rose bush nods up to her, and lays a snowy fragrant present of buds upon the window-ledge; but Martha stands silently, as she stood last morning, to watch Harry go away, and again pulls with unconscious fingers the jasmine flowers.
“Who is that?” repeated Agnes.
It is only a groom leading up and down, on the broad gravel walk at the other side of the lawn, a fine horse, stately and impatient, which scorns its limited space, and paws the gravel disdainfully, and arches its proud neck to the infinite admiration of the Dragon and John, who stand by the holly hedge as spectators. Katie and Violet, attracted by the repetition of Agnes’s question, rush from the window to the door to ascertain; and after a brief conversation with Dragon, Violet returns, breathless, with the information, that it is a new riding-horse, sent out this morning from Stirling, where Harry bought it yesterday; but that Dragon says it is too wild a horse for any but a bold rider, and that it is sure to throw Mr. Hairy.