But I ventured to suggest that I could cut him a switch from the hedge, which Dobbin could certainly be made to feel, though it might not be so elegant as a riding-whip.

"Never mind it," said he. "It's no use; you can't expect much of any horse without saddle or spurs. And besides, what would become of you and Ned? You couldn't keep up."

I suggested that he might go on a mile or two and then return to meet us, and so have all the more ride. But he answered: "I'm afraid Uncle Jacob wouldn't like that. He expects us to go right to the pasture, without delay. You just wait till I get a good saddle, with Mexican stirrups, and wheel-spurs."

By this time, the boys who had been following us had dropped off. But at the next corner three or four others espied us, and gathered around.

"Why don't you make him go?" said one who had a switch in his hand, with which at the same time he gave Dobbin a smart blow on the flank.

A sort of shiver of surprise ran through Dobbin. Then he planted his fore feet firmly and evenly on the ground, as if he had been told to toe a mark, and threw out his hind ones, so that for an instant they formed a continuous straight line with his body. The boy who had struck him, standing almost behind him, narrowly escaped being sent home to his breakfast with no appetite at all.

"Lick those fellows!" said Phaeton to Ned and me, as he leaned over Dobbin's neck and seized his mane with a desperate grip.

"There are too many of them," said Ned.

"Well, lick the curly-headed one, any way," said Phaeton, "if he doesn't know better than to hit a horse with a switch."

Ned started for him, and the boy, diving through an open gate and dodging around a small barn, was last seen going over two or three back fences, with Ned all the while just one fence behind him.

When they were out of sight, the remaining boys turned their attention again to Dobbin, and one of them threw a pebble, which hit him on the nose and made him perform very much as before, excepting that this time he planted his hind feet and threw his fore feet into the air.

"Go for that fellow!" said Phaeton to me.

He struck off in a direction opposite to that taken by the curly-headed boy, and I followed him. It was a pretty rough chase that he led me; but he seemed to know every step of the way, and when he ran into the culvert by which the Deep Hollow stream passed under the canal, I gave it up, and made my way back. That he should have run from me, seemed at first a mystery, for he had a far better pugilistic record than I. But he probably ran because he was conscious of being in the wrong, as he had no shadow of right to throw a pebble at the nose of another boy's horse. This proves the power of a just cause.

Calculating that Phaeton must have passed on some distance by this time, I took a diagonal path across a field, and struck into the road near the stone brewery. Phaeton had not yet arrived, and I sat down in the shade of the building. Presently, Dobbin came up the road at a jog trot, with Phaeton wobbling around on his back, like a ball in a fountain. The cause of his speed was the clatter of an empty barrel-rack being driven along behind him.

On arriving at the brewery, he turned and, in spite of Phaeton's frantic "Whoas!" and rein-jerking, went right through a low-arched door, scraping off his rider as he passed in.

"So much for not having a gag-bit," said Phaeton, as he picked himself up. "I remember, Uncle Jacob said the horse had worked fifteen or sixteen years in a brewery. That was a long time ago, but it seems he hasn't forgotten it yet. And now I don't suppose we can ever get him out of there without a gag-bit."

He had hardly said this, however, when one of the brewery men came leading out Dobbin. Then the inquiry was for Ned, who had not been seen since he went over the third fence after the curly-headed boy who didn't know any better than to hit a horse with a switch. Phaeton decided that we must wait for him. In about fifteen minutes, one of the great brewery wagons came up the road, and as it turned in at the gate, Ned dropped from the hind axle, where he had been catching a ride.

After we had exchanged the stories of our adventures, Ned said it was now his turn to ride.

"I wish you could, Ned," said Phaeton; "but I don't dare trust you on his back. He's too fiery and untamable. It's all I can do to hold him."

Ned grumbled somewhat; but with the help of the brewery man, Phaeton remounted, and we set off again for Kidd's pasture. Ned and I walked close beside the horse, each with the fingers of one hand between his body and the surcingle, that we might either hold him or be taken along with him if he should again prove fiery and untamable.

When we got to the canal bridge, we found that a single plank was missing from the road-way. Nothing could induce Dobbin to step across that open space. All sorts of coaxing and argument were used, and even a few gentle digs from Phaeton's heels, but it was of no avail. At last he began to back, and Ned and I let go of the surcingle. Around he wheeled, and down the steep bank he went, like the picture of Putnam at Horseneck, landed on the tow-path, and immediately plunged into the water. A crowd of boys who were swimming under the bridge set up a shout, as he swam across with Phaeton on his back, and, climbing out on the other side, accompanied us along the road as far as the requirements of civilization would permit.

Ned and I crossed by the bridge.

"I only hope Uncle Jacob won't blame me if the horse takes cold," said Phaeton.

"Can't we prevent it?" said Ned.

"What can you do?" said Phaeton.

"I think we ought to rub him off perfectly dry, at once," said Ned. "That's the way Mr. Gifford's groom does."

"I guess that's so," said Phaeton. "You two go to that hay-stack over there, and get some good wisps to rub him down."

Ned and I each brought a large armful of hay.

"Now, see here, Fay," said Ned, "you've got to get off from that horse and help rub him. We're not going to do it all."

"But how can I get on again?" said Phaeton.

"I don't care how," said Ned. "You've had all the ride, and you must expect to do some of the work. If you don't, I'll let him die of quick consumption before I'll rub him."

This vigorous declaration of independence had a good effect. Phaeton slid down, and tied Dobbin to the fence, and we all set to work and used up the entire supply of hay in rubbing him dry.

After several unsuccessful attempts to mount him by bringing him close to the fence, Phaeton determined to lead him the rest of the way.

"Anyhow, I suppose he ought not to have too violent exercise after such a soaking as that," said he. "We'll let him rest a little."

As we were now beyond the limits of the town, the only spectators were individual boys and girls, who were generally swinging on farm-yard gates. Most of these, however, took interest enough to inquire why we didn't ride. We paid no attention to their suggestions, but walked quietly along,—Phaeton at the halter, and Ned and I at the sides,—as if guarding the sacred bull of Burmah.

About a mile of this brought us to Mr. Kidd's.

"What about riding over the dog?" said Ned.

"We can't very well ride over him to-day, when we've neither saddle nor spurs," said Phaeton; "but you two might get some good stones, and be ready for him."

Accordingly we two selected some good stones. Ned crowded one into each of his four pockets, and carried one in each hand. I contented myself with two in my hands.

"There's no need of getting so many," said Phaeton. "For if you don't hit him the first time, he'll be on you before you can throw another."

This was not very comforting; but we kept on, and Ned said it wouldn't do any harm to have plenty of ammunition. When we reached the house, there was no dog in sight, excepting a small shaggy one asleep on the front steps.

"You hold Dobbin," said Phaeton to me, "while