when we get there we're to look out for the dog."

"It must be pretty savage, or they wouldn't tell us to look out for it. Are you going to take a pistol?"

"No; Fay says if the dog comes out, he'll ride right over him. You can't aim a pistol very steadily when you are riding full gallop on horseback."

"I suppose not," said I. "I never tried it. But after we've left the horse in the pasture, how are we to get back past the dog?"

"If Fay once rides over that dog, on that horse," said Ned, in a tone of solemn confidence, "there won't be much bite left in him when we come back."

So we said good-night, and went to bed to dream of morning canters through lovely scenery, dotted with stone breweries, and of riding triumphantly into pasture over the bodies of ferocious dogs.

A more beautiful morning never dawned, and we boys were up not much later than the sun.

The first thing to do was to untie the horse; and as he had managed to get his leg over the halter-rope, this was no easy task. Before we had accomplished it, Ned suggested that it would be better not to untie him till after we had put on the saddle; which suggestion Phaeton adopted. The saddle was pretty heavy, but we found no great difficulty in landing it on the animal's back. The trouble was, to dispose of a long strap with a loop at the end, which evidently was intended to go around the horse's tail, to keep the saddle from sliding forward upon his neck. None of us liked to try the experiment of standing behind the animal to adjust that loop.

"He looks to me like a very kicky horse," said Ned; "and I wouldn't like to see any of us laid up before the Fourth of July."

Phaeton thought of a good plan. Accordingly, with great labor, Ned and I assisted him to get astride the animal, with his face toward the tail, and he cautiously worked his way along the back of the now suspicious beast. But the problem was not yet solved: if he should go far enough to lift the tail and pass the strap around it, he would slide off and be kicked. Ned came to the rescue with another idea. He got a stout string, and, standing beside the animal till it happened to switch its tail around that side, caught it, and tied the string tightly to the end. Then getting to a safe distance, he proposed to pull the string and lift the tail for his brother to pass the crupper under. But as soon as he began to pull, the horse began to kick; and not only to kick, but to rear, bumping Phaeton's head against the roof of the low shed, so that he was obliged to lie flat and hang on tight. While this was going on, their Uncle Jacob appeared, and asked what they were doing.

"Putting on the saddle, sir," said I.

"Yes, it looks like it," said he. "But I didn't intend to have you take the saddle."

"Why not, uncle?" said Phaeton.

"Because it is too heavy for you to bring back."

"Oh, but we can leave it there," said Phaeton. "Hang it up in Kidd's barn."

"No; that won't do," said his uncle. "Can't tell who might use it or abuse it. I'll strap on a blanket, and you can ride just as well on that."

"But none of us have been used to riding that way," said Ned.

Without replying, his uncle folded a blanket, laid it on the horse's back, and fastened it with a surcingle. He then bridled and led out the animal.

"Who rides first?" said he.

I was a little disappointed at this, for I had supposed that we should all ride at once. Still, I was comforted that he had not merely said, "Who rides?"—but "Who rides first?"—implying that we were all to ride in turn. Phaeton stepped forward, and his uncle lifted him upon the horse, and put the bridle-reins into his hand.

"I think you won't need any whip," said he, as he turned and went into the house.

The horse walked slowly down till he came to a full stop, with his breast against the front gate.

"Open the gate, Ned," said Phaeton.

"I can't do it, unless you back him," answered Ned. This was true, for the gate opened inward.

"Back, Dobbin!" said Phaeton, in a stern voice of authority, giving a vigorous jerk upon the reins.

But Dobbin didn't back an inch.

"Why don't you back him?" said Ned, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

"Why don't you open that gate?" said Phaeton.

By this time, three or four boys had gathered on the sidewalk, and were staring at our performance.

"Shall I hit him?" said Ned, breaking a switch.

"No," said Phaeton, more excited than before; "don't touch him! Back, Dobbin! Back!"

But Dobbin seemed to be one of those heroic characters who take no step backward.

"I know how to manage it," said Ned, as he ran to the wood-pile and selected a small round stick. Thrusting the end of this under the gate, he pried it up until he had lifted it from its hinges, when it fell over outward, coming down with a tremendous slam-bang upon the sidewalk. A great shiver ran through Dobbin, beginning at the tips of his ears, and ending at his shaggy fetlocks. Then, with a quick snort, he made a wild bound over the prostrate gate, and landed in the middle of the road.

I don't know how Phaeton managed to keep his seat, but he did; and though the boys on the sidewalk set up a shout, Dobbin stood perfectly still in the road, waiting for the next earthquake, or falling gate, or something, to give him another start.

"Come on, boys! Never mind the gate!" said Phaeton.

When he said "boys," he only meant Ned and me. But the boys on the sidewalk promptly accepted the invitation and came on, too.

"You walk on the nigh side," said Phaeton to me, "and let Ned take the off side."

I was rather puzzled as to his exact meaning; and yet I was proud to think that the boy who represented what might now be considered our party on horseback, as distinguished from the strangers on foot crowding alongside; was able to use a few technical terms. Not wishing to display my ignorance, I loitered a little, to leave the choice of sides to Ned, confident that he would know which was nigh and which was off. He promptly placed himself on the left side, near enough to seize his brother by the left leg, if need be, and either hold him on or pull him off. I, of course, then took a similar position on the right side.

"He told you to take the nigh side," shouted one of the boys to me.

"He's all right," said Phaeton. "I'd advise you to hurry home before your breakfast gets cold. We'll run this horse without any more help."

"Run him, will you?" answered the boy derisively. "That's what I'm waiting to see. He'll run so fast the grass'll grow under his feet."

"If there was a hot breakfast an inch ahead of your nose," said another of the boys, addressing Phaeton, "it'd be stone cold before you got to it."

Notwithstanding these sarcastic remarks, our horse was now perceptibly moving. He had begun to walk alone in the middle of the road, and—what at the time seemed to me very fortunate—he was going in the direction of the pasture.

"Can't you make him go faster, Fay?" said Ned.

"Not in this condition," said Phaeton. "You can't expect a horse without a saddle on him to make very good time."

"What difference does that make?" said I.

"You read the book, and you'll see," said Phaeton, in that tone of superior information which is common to people who have but just learned what they are talking about, and not learned it very well. "All the directions in the book are for horses with saddles on them. There isn't one place where it tells about a horse with just a blanket strapped over his back. If Uncle Jacob had let me take the saddle, and if I had a good pair of wheel-spurs, and a riding-whip, and a gag-bit in his mouth, you wouldn't see me here. By this time I should be just a little cloud of dust, away up there beyond the brewery. This animal shows marks of speed, and I'll bet you, if he was properly handled, he'd trot way down in the thirties."

So much good horse-talk, right out of a standard book, rather awed me.