He had a good long ride, up and down, and up and down, and the next day his father took him out again, and taught him how to sit and how to guide his pony. In a week or two Arthur could ride by himself, even when the pony was trotting gently; and before long he rode all over the grounds, trotting or cantering or walking, just as he pleased. The pony was a very gentle, quiet creature, and Arthur's father felt quite willing to trust his little boy to ride about on him, provided he did not go far from home. Only once was there any trouble on the pony's account. As Arthur was riding in a field, one afternoon, there came along a party of gentlemen, who were hunting a fox. When they galloped away, over the smooth grass, Arthur whipped up his pony, and went after them as fast as he could go. He went on and on, trying to keep up with the hunters, but he was soon left behind, for his pony could not gallop half as fast as the large, strong horses of the hunters. Then he turned to come back, but he got into the wrong field, and soon found that he did not know the way home. Arthur began to be very much frightened, for the sun was setting, and he could see no one of whom he could ask his way home. He first turned his pony this way and then that way, but the little horse was now hungry and tired, and he would not turn as Arthur wanted him to. Then the pony resolutely started off and trotted along, paying no attention to Arthur's pulls and tugs, and did not stop until he had trotted right up to the door of Arthur's home. You see, he knew the way well enough. Horses and dogs seldom lose their way, unless they are very far from home. Arthur's parents were frightened at their little boy's long absence, and he was not allowed to ride again for three days, for he had been told not to go out of the field in which he was when he saw the hunters. [Illustration: ARTHUR ON HIS PONY.] Arthur rode that pony until he became quite a big boy, and his feet nearly touched the ground as he sat in the saddle. Then he gave the good little animal to a young cousin. But he never liked any horse so much as this pony, which was his own, real horse, when he was such a little boy. YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT. [Illustration: TWO YOUNG MARTYRS. (Drawn by a Young-Contributor.)] "TOO-LOO!" The Blue Jay courted the Yellow Cuckoo; 'Neath its nest he would stay all day long, Smoothing his feathers of silver and blue, Telling his love in a song: "Too-loo! too-loo! Oh, fly with me, My sweet Cuckoo, Across the sea!" The Cuckoo came gayly forth from her nest; But just then an arrow flew by, Piercing the bird's soft yellow breast, Who died with a single sigh. "Too-loo! too-loo!" The Blue Jay said; "What shall I do? My love is dead!"