He walked up to each clump with a mannerly grace, until they approached the large oak which had been for five hundred years the pride of Clare Park. As they came within its flung shadow Timber propped himself suddenly on his forelegs and snorted with fright Brat was puzzled. What did he remember about the oak that would cause a reaction as strong as that? He looked at the ears that were sticking up as stiff as horns. Perhaps it wasn't a memory. Perhaps there was something in the grass.
"Do you always sneak up on girls under trees?" said a voice from the shadows, and from the grass there emerged the seal-like form of Miss Parslow. She propped herself on an elbow and surveyed the pair. Brat was a little surprised that she was alone. "Don't you ever ride anything but that black brute?"
Brat said that he did, quite often.
"I suppose it would be too much to expect that you were looking for me when you came over to the park to ride?"
Brat said that he was looking for a place to teach Timber manners.
"What's the matter with his manners?"
"He has a habit of diving suddenly under a tree so that he scrapes his rider off."
Miss Parslow propped herself a little farther up and looked with new interest at the horse. "You don't say! I never thought the brutes had that much sense. How are you going to stop him?"
"I'm going to make riding under trees a painful experience for him."
"You mean you'll beat him when he tries to do it?"