did—over my animal's nose. How often have I not sat at my ease on the dusty road, weeping plentifully, while my steed refreshed himself from the hedge, waiting till Providence should send somebody to put me into the saddle again! Altogether it was a failure: and after my pony had walked me in at the open door of the village public, and was forced to be backed therefrom, to papa's rage and disgust, he washed his hands of me, and I was left in peace. "You won't be very angry if I break the horse's knees," I ask, anxiously; "that was what unnerved me so when I was out with the governor; my own would not have mattered half as much!"
"Poor little sweetheart!" he says; "well, I don't know that I should care particularly for a stable of broken-kneed horses, but I would far rather they came to grief than you did."
"I can stick on pretty well," I say, with modest pride, "but you will never be able to teach me to trot! You will be so ashamed of me when you see me shaking up and down in the saddle, with my hat at the back of my neck, and my hair tumbling down—you should only hear Jack talk about it! Poor fellow! how I have forgotten him lately! All your fault, sir."
We stand still among the cabbages to make ourselves ridiculous, and then go on again.
"Do you know, Paul, that there is one thing I shall not like at the Towers?"
"What is that?"
"The visitors! Don't you think it would be much better to quarrel with our neighbours all round, as papa does? We never should have had this glorious time here, if callers had been popping in at all hours! Now, if visitors only came when they were asked, or when they had something nice to say, or because they knew they were welcome, there would be some sense in their coming; but when they only call as a duty, and don't care twopence for you,
