They turned to the right. There were ten airy box stalls, nearly as big as small bedrooms in the New York flats which Beth had never seen. Eight of these stalls were occupied. Beth did not recognize her uncle’s carriage horses, because she had never seen them without their harnesses, but she had no eyes for them, nor for the beautiful, slender Virginian saddle horses which occupied five of the stalls. All she could see was a pony in the eighth stall. He was not tied and he whirled about and trotted up to the stall door when he heard his visitors coming, lifting his head and sniffing the air with his short, somewhat turned-up nose, hopeful of a treat, while his bright eyes peered out under his heavy thatch of forelock. He was the color of coffee-and-cream, with a long, thick tail and mane, almost brown. He was not a Shetland pony of the smallest type, but a stocky little fellow about four feet high and that is large for a pony, since four inches more than that is the greatest height allowed them by the proper authorities. “Oh, what a dar-arling!” cried Beth. “Is that yours, Dirk? Will he bite?” She was at the pony’s head as she spoke, half timorously, wholly ecstatically allowing herself to be sniffed for sweets. “No; that one’s mine, that chestnut, and he’s the best of the bunch,” replied Dirk, going over to his horse’s stall, yet keeping his eye on Beth to see the fun. “Well, maybe, but this pony! Yours, Alys?” persisted Beth. “I thought, perhaps, you would ride him, Beth,” said Mr. Cortlandt quietly. “Me! I ride him? This angelic dumpling!” cried Beth beginning to tremble. “Isn’t that a new brand of dumpling?” inquired her uncle, as everybody laughed. “Of course you’re to do as you choose about riding your own pony. You may ride, or sell, or give him away, but I thought you’d like to ride him. He is your own, to do with as you please.” “Mine? My own! This--this---- Oh, Uncle Jim, Uncle Jim!” And Beth, shaking like a leaf with the excessive, unbearable joy of this discovery, put her head down on the lower and closed half of the stall door and sobbed outright, while the pony nosed her, unheeded. Only for a moment did Beth’s joy so overwhelm her. Then she sprang up, frantically hugged her amused uncle, crushed her aunt in a tempestuous embrace and spun Alys, who happened to be nearest her, in a wild dance for an instant, much to that dignified young person’s horror, for the stablemen were standing by greatly amused. “My pony, my darling!” Beth cried, whirling over to the stall again. But here caution checked her raptures. “What can I do to him? Will he let me hug him?” she asked. “I’ll take you into his stall, miss,” said the man with whom Dirk had seemed to be on such friendly terms. “He’s used to me and I’ll introjuice you like.” He opened the stall door and Beth followed him within, to be introduced to her own, her very own pony.