Whereupon Helen at last found voice. "Wait!" she cried, evenly, and, turning, sped along the fence to the gate. Inside the corral she hurried to the horse and flung her arms around his neck. "Pat dear," she began, tenderly, "I am so sorry! But it's 'most over with now, if you'll only accept it! Can't you see, Pat? It is so very necessary to both of us! For then I myself can ride you! Please, Pat--please, for my sake!" Whereupon Pat, as if all else were forgotten--all the torture, all the struggle and shock--nickered softly and nuzzled her hands for sugar and apples. Suppressing a smile, and accepting this as a good omen, she stroked him a few times more and then stepped back. "Later, dear!" she promised and left him, suddenly mindful of spectators. But, though she felt the blood rush into her cheeks, she did not leave the inclosure. The horse-breaker stepped resolutely to Pat and, laying firm hands upon the bridle, waited a moment, eying Pat narrowly, then flung up into the saddle. Pat's sides heaved, his knees trembled, but he did not resist. Eyes trained upon his mistress, as if he would hold her to her promise, he set out peacefully, and of his own volition, across the inclosure. Further, even though he could not see his mistress now, he turned in response to the rein and started back across the inclosure. And he kept this up, holding to perfect calm, breaking into a trot when urged to it, falling back into a walk in response to the bridle, round and round and round until, with a grunt of satisfaction, the man dismounted close beside the girl and handed her the reins. "Rides easy as a single-footer, Miss Richards," he declared. "Where can I wash up?" Which ended Pat's first great lesson at the hands of man. But though this lesson had its values, since he was destined to serve mankind, yet he had learned another thing that held more value to him as an animal than all the teachings within the grasp of men--he had learned the inevitable workings of cause and effect. His nose was scraped and his knees were scraped, and all these places burned intensely. And, intelligent horse that he was, he knew why he suffered these burns--knew that he had brought them about through his own sheer wilfulness. True, he was still girt with bands and straps, and in a way they were uncomfortable. But they did not pain him as the wounds pained him. Not that he reasoned all this out. He was but a dumb animal, and pure reasoning was blissfully apart from him. But he did know the difference between what had been desired of him and what he himself had brought on through sheer wilfulness. Thus he awakened, having learned this lesson with his headlong plunge into the fence, and having added to the lesson of the futility of rebellion the very clear desires of his mistress. Other and less intelligent horses would have continued to respond to the ancestral voice within till death. But Pat was more than such a horse.