Bobs whinnied sharply as the door opened, and Cecil looked at the
inquiring head; and then, sourly, towards Brown Betty, standing
peacefully, half asleep, in her stall.
"Wonder if she'd mind?" Cecil muttered, pondering. "Let her, anyhow!"
With which cryptic remarks he moved towards the saddles.
Norah arrived on the scene a few minutes later, coming straight to the
stables. For a moment she could not see Cecil, then, peering into
Betty's stall, she made him out, busily girthing up. Bobs was already
saddled, and Norah went up to him.
"Why, you have been quick, Cecil," she said, cheerfully. "I thought I
was going to help you, but there doesn't seem anything for me to do.
Thanks very much for saddling Bobs." She led the pony out, and then
stopped. "Oh, what a pity," she said. "You've got the wrong saddles on,
Cecil."
Cecil came out, leading the brown mare, and a little flushed.
"I did it on--ah--purpose," he said. "You don't mind, I suppose if I ride
Bobs home?"
Norah looked at him a moment, and then flushed in her turn. To let her
cousin ride Bobs seventeen miles was unthinkable. She had the
profoundest regard for her pony's back; and she knew that even Brown
Betty's seasoned hide was giving way under the unskilled horsemanship
of the city boy.
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