"You mean the pony will do it, Bates," cried Vixen. "I don't jump. How can I help it if papa has given me a jumping pony? If I didn't let Titmouse take a gate when he was in the humour, he'd kick like old boots, and pitch me a cropper. It's an instinct of self-preservation that makes me let him jump. And as for poor dear, pretty little mamma," continued Vixen, addressing herself to Roderick, and changing her tone to one of patronising tenderness, "if she had her way, I should be brought up in a little box wrapped in jeweller's wool, to keep me safe. But you see I take after papa, Rorie; and it comes as natural to me to fly over gates as it does to you to get ploughed for smalls. There, Bates," jumping off the pony, "you may take Titmouse home, and I'll come presently and give him some apples, for he has been a dear, darling, precious treasure of a ponykins." She emphasised this commendation with a kiss on Titmouse's gray nose, and handed the bridle to Bates. "I'm going to walk home with Mr. Vawdrey," she said. "But, Vixen, I can't, really," said Roderick; "I'm due at home at this moment, only I couldn't leave without saying good-bye to little Vix." "And you're over due at Oxford, too, aren't you?" cried Vixen, laughing; "you're always due somewhere--never in the right place. But whether you are due or not, you're coming up to the stables with me to give Titmouse his apples, and then you're coming to dine with us on your last night at home. I insist upon it; papa insists; mamma insists--we all insist." "My mother will be as angry as----" "Old boots!" interjected Vixen. "That's the best comparison I know." "Awfully vulgar for a young lady." "You taught it me. How can I help being vulgar when I associate with you? You should hear Miss McCroke preach at me sermons so long"--here Vixen extended her arms to the utmost--"and I'm afraid they'd make as much impression on Titmouse as they do upon me. But she's a dear old thing, and I love her immensely." This was Vixen's usual way, making up for all shortcomings with the abundance of her love. The heart was always atoning for the errors of the head. "I wouldn't be Miss McCroke for anything. She must have a bad time of it with you." "She has," assented Vixen, with a remorseful sigh; "I fear I'm bringing her sandy hairs with sorrow to the grave. That hair of hers never could be gray, you know, it's too self-opinionated in its sandiness. Now come along, Rorie, do. Titmouse will be stamping about his box like a maniac if he doesn't get those apples." She gave a little tug with both her small doeskin-covered hands at Roderick's arm. He was still standing by the gate irresolute, inclination drawing him to the Abbey House, duty calling him home to Briarwood, five miles off, where his widowed mother was expecting his return. "My last night at home, Vix," he said remonstrantly; "I really ought to dine with my mother."