“No gentleman,” he asserted, “who overheard what followed would ever tell of it; and a horse has an even higher standard of honour.”
“Ah, darling Mr. Reveille,” pleaded the feminine part of his audience, “just a little more!”
“I hate to seem mulish,” responded the horse, “and so I will add one small incident that is too good not to be repeated. When we rode up to the house that evening, shamefully late for dinner, my Major lifted Miss Fairley off Miss Gaiety in a way that suggested that she might be very breakable, and, after something I don’t choose to tell you about, he said:
“‘I wonder if we shall ever have another such ride!’
“‘It doesn’t seem possible, Stanley,’ whispered my Felicia, very softly. ‘You know, even the horses seemed to understand!’”
Just as Reveille finished thus, a human voice was heard, saying:
“You will have the veterinary see the cob at once, and let me know if it is a case which requires more than blistering.”
Then came a second and very treble voice. “Papa,” it begged, “will oo lif’ me up on ol’ Weveille’s back?” And the next moment a child of three was sitting astride the old warrior and clinging to his mane.
“Well, you old scoundrel,” said the human, “do you know you are getting outrageously fat?”
“Weveille isn’t not any scoundwel,” denied the child, earnestly. “Mama says Weveille is a’ ol’ darlin’.”