“Why, it is later than I thought. Run and get your hat and coat, Bertie. We ought to be off almost at once, or we shall be benighted.” Bertie ran off in a great state of delight, not quite knowing what was in store, but certain that it would be something very nice. Nor was he disappointed, for when he came down there was the Squire’s own bay standing ready saddled at the door, and beside it a smaller and slighter horse, very gracefully made and very pretty, also a bay, at whom the master was looking very critically as the groom led him up and down before him. “Now, Bertie,” he said, facing round as the child approached, “I have got you something to ride, and as no pony could keep up with Castor, I have had to get you something bigger than I meant at first. He is very fast, but at the same time quite gentle, and his mouth is very good. Do you think you can manage him? If you feel at all afraid, say so, for it is not the least use mounting a thoroughbred horse unless you mean to be master.” Bertie looked at the horse and then up into the Squire’s face; he was flushed with excitement, but his mouth was firmly set. “I’m not a bit afraid,” he answered, quietly. “I should like to ride him very much.” “Very good; you shall.” So Bertie was lifted into the saddle, and he gathered up his reins and settled himself in his seat in a way that showed him no novice in the art of horsemanship. The little horse stepped daintily back and forth, as if longing to be off; but Bertie’s gentle voice and hands controlled him, and he stood still, arching his neck and pawing the ground with his foot, until the Squire was mounted and gave the word to start. How Bertie enjoyed that ride he never could afterwards express. It seemed like the realization of his brightest dream to be galloping along the soft slushy roads beside the Squire, mounted on a horse who seemed ready to fly, yet who was so gentle that the child had no real trouble in controlling him. There is something infectious in the utter gladness of heart with which childhood can enter into new pleasures. The sight of Bertie’s happy face and shining eyes brought many a smile to the grave countenance of the Squire, and he looked down with much tenderness at the little boy at his side, and once it seemed almost as if an unwonted tear stood in his eye. Bertie, at least, glancing up at the moment, almost fancied that he had seen it, and wondered what it meant. When they drew rein by and by, and walked their horses quietly along the lonely road, Bertie looked up once again into the Squire’s face and asked with great interest,— “Used you to take Tom and Charley out with you when you rode, like you are taking me to-day?” “Yes, they very often came with me.” “I wonder if they liked it as much as I do.” “You like it so very much, then?”