“Yes, that will be the best way for you and the pony to get over,” returned Coverdale, “but I’ll take it as it stands. I’ve never yet had a chance of trying Lancelot at a stiff fence, and I want to see how he’ll act: don’t you attempt to follow me; as soon as I am over, I’ll dismount and pull down the rail for you.” As he spoke Harry put his horse in motion, cantered him up to the fence, and faced him at it. Sir Lancelot did not belie the character that had been given of him. As he approached the bank he quickened his pace of his own accord, gathered his legs well under him, and then rising to the leap, sprang over with a motion so easy and elastic that his rider appeared scarcely to move in his saddle. The descent on the farther side was steeper than Harry had expected, and the leap altogether might be considered a difficult one. Delighted with his horse’s performance, Harry pulled up, and turned, with the intention of alighting, in order to remove a rail of the fence, and thus facilitate the transit of Tom and the pony; when, to his alarm and vexation, he perceived that the boy, deceived by the apparent ease with which he had accomplished the task (a delusive appearance, produced as much by the coolness and address of the rider as by the power and excellent training of the horse), had determined to display his prowess by following him; nor could Harry interfere to prevent him, for at the moment he turned, Tom was in the act of galloping up to the fence: all that remained for him, therefore, was to shout, “Give the pony his head, and hold tight with your knees,” and to await the result. The pony, excited by seeing its companion on the other side, faced the leap boldly, and cleared the ditch and bunk, but catching its hoofs against the rail, fell, pitching its rider over its head into the field beyond, where he lay as if stunned. In an instant Harry had sprung from his saddle and lifted him in his arms. “Thank Heaven!” he exclaimed as the boy opened his eyes, and, perceiving Coverdale bending over him, smiled to evince his gratitude. “You don’t feel as if you were seriously hurt anywhere, do you?” “All right!” was the reply. “I feel a little bit shaky and confused; rather as if somebody had gone and kicked me into the middle of next week, that’s all.” “Then you’ve escaped more easily than you had any right to expect, you heedless, impetuous young monkey,” returned Coverdale, sharply. “You must have been mad to suppose that a half-bred, thick-headed beast like that pony, would carry you over such a fence as that. Why, I know men, who call themselves good riders, who would refuse it, unless they were very well mounted.” “If the pony did not carry me over, he shot me over, and that did just as well,” was the careless reply. “But I say, Mr. Coverdale, only look at his knees? Oh! shan’t we get into a jolly scrape just.”