Further, it was not very
usual for Norah to ride in this direction--he had headed naturally for
the second gate before his tender mouth was suddenly wrenched aside
towards the third. Bobs arrived at the gate in something considerably
removed from his usual contented state of mind.
The gate was awkward, and Cecil clumsy at shutting it; he hauled the
pony's mouth roughly in his efforts to bring him into position where he
could send home the catch. The same performance was repeated at the
next gate--the one leading into the bush paddock; and when at length
they turned from it Bobs' mouth was feeling the bit in a manner that
was quite new to him, and as unpleasant as new. He sidled off in a
rough, jerky walk, betraying irritation in every movement, had Cecil
been wise enough to know it.
Cecil, however, was still perfectly content. He was out of sight of the
house, which was comforting in itself; while as for the idea that he
was not completely master of his mount, he would have been highly
amused at it. It was pleasant to be out, in the morning freshness; and
there was no need to hurry home, since the scones and tea in the
kitchen had made him independent of breakfast. The paddock he was in
looked interesting, too; the plain ended in a line of rough,
scrub-grown hills which it occurred to him would be a good place to
explore.
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