“Friend,” said the Vicar, “at best you are but a beast, and you have no eyes behind your ears. I’ll wager you will go willingly.” With that he climbed upon the noble animal’s back, which stood as patient as a lamb. To be sure it was thirty years or more since the good Vicar had been on horseback, and, moreover, his legs were about two inches too short for the stirrups; but then it was to be but a few moments’ ride, and it was well to show Aunt Rosmarin that he had not forgotten the chivalrous arts over his theology. Over and above all this there was danger in delay. So he belaboured the horse’s shanks with his boots, and the steed, taken aback by such ill-treatment, at once began to canter along the woody path, across the field into the open road, having for weeks past traversed no other way than this with the Baron. The Vicar, in danger of losing his balance, with laudable precaution clasped his fingers in the mane of his Pegasus. Finding himself upon the road, however, instead of parading under Auntie’s window, he tried to grasp the bridle. Over this attempt he came very near losing both stirrups. Making sure of these once more, he let the bridle alone. For a while these two purposes warred with each other, and between times he admonished the fiery horse with many caresses to stand still. But it was all in vain; and when in his despair he pulled the line too tight, at the same time clasping the horse’s sides firmly with his legs, it forthwith rose upon its hind feet, and, to his inexpressible horror, began to walk about like a human being, and perform tricks which were positively not to the Vicar’s taste just at that moment. He now succumbed to fate and to his horse, clinging to the latter with hands and feet while it sped along at a full gallop till the poor Vicar was deaf and blind with dizziness. “Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee,” he sighed. “If this isn’t the very devil himself! Had I but left the beast standing where I was how happy should I be!” It so happened that right here the road had been barred by peasants in honour of the grazing cattle. [Illustration: “FELT THE WAVES PENETRATE HIS BLACK SILK STOCKINGS.”] “Te Deum laudamus!” cried the Vicar. “Here surely this rascal of a horse will come to a stand.” But the steed leaped over as if he had wings, so that the horseman’s hair stood on end, and his hat and wig took flight in horror. “I have learned to ride better than you, for I still hold my seat,” said the good Vicar in Christian tranquillity to the truants, not venturing to turn and look after them.