‘Why not?’ inquired Tottie, with much surprise. ‘I can ride in one just as well as the other. You have only to throw the off-side stirrup over the pommel, sit square and straight, and there you are. You didn’t think I was going to ride boy-fashion, did you?’ ‘I was not sure,’ conceded Miss Neuchamp. However, your explanation has satisfied me. If you like, we will ride down to your father’s place this afternoon.‘ So Osmund being brought round, and Tottie’s side-saddle upon him placed, that temperate charger walked off with Miss Neuchamp as if he had carried a ‘pretty horsebreaker’ up Rotten Row before the eyes of an envious aristocracy, while Tottie disposed herself upon a station saddle and ambled off so erect and free of seat that few could have known that she was crutchless and self-balanced. Mr. Windsor followed at a respectful distance, in case of any _contretemps_ requiring a groom’s assistance. Miss Neuchamp was perhaps never more favourably impressed with the South Land, in which she was sojourning, than when she felt herself borne along by Osmund, a hackney of rare excellence—free, elastic, safe, fast, easy! How many horses of whom so much can be said does one come across in a lifetime? ‘This seems to be an exceedingly nice horse of my cousin’s,’ said she to Tottie. ‘I had no idea that such riding horses could be found in the interior. He must have been very carefully trained.’ ‘He’s a plum, that’s what he is!’ affirmed Tottie with decision. ‘He’s the best horse in these parts, by long chalks. Mr. Neuchamp let me have a spirt on him one day. My word! didn’t I put him along?’ ‘I am surprised that he should have let you ride him,’ replied Miss Neuchamp with dignity; ‘but my cousin is very eccentric, and does not, in my opinion, always keep his proper position.’ ‘I don’t know about his proper position,’ said Tottie with great spirit, ‘but before our people had the row with him—and that was Uncle Joe’s fault—there was no one within fifty mile of Rainbar that wouldn’t have gone on their knees to serve Mr. Neuchamp. _As a gentleman he can’t be beat_; and many a one besides me thinks that.’ ‘Oh well, if you have that sort of respectful feeling towards my cousin, Mary Anne, I have nothing to say,’ said Miss Augusta. ‘No one can possibly have better intentions, and I am glad to see them so well appreciated, even in the bush. Suppose we canter.’ She drew the curb rein as she spoke, and Osmund sailed off at a long, bounding, deerlike canter over the smooth dusty track, which convinced Miss Neuchamp that she had not left all the good horses in England. The scant provender had impaired his personal appearance, but had not deprived him of that courage which he would retain as long as he possessed strength to stand on his legs.