A swift side glance showed the big scholar, Graham, lounging in the doorway.

Just approaching him from the direction of the village was the old schoolmaster, Mr. Darrow.

“He has been up to see Aunt Lavinia, that’s the reason of the double recess,” thought Andy, his heart sinking a trifle.  Then, flinging care to the winds for the occasion, he uttered a ringing: 

“Hoop-la!”

Andy felt that he must do justice to the expectations of his young friends.

He swung outward on one foot in true circus ring fashion.  He swayed back at the end of the bridles.  He tipped thrillingly at the very edge of the cushioned platform.  All the time by shouts and whip, he urged up old Dobbin to his best spurt of speed.

At the schoolhouse door Mr. Darrow gazed at the astonishing spectacle with uplifted hands.

“Shocking!” he groaned.  “Graham, there goes the most incorrigible boy in Fairview.”

“Yes,” nodded Graham with a quaint smile, as Andy Wildwood flashed out of sight past the break in the timber—­“he certainly is going some.”

“He’ll break his neck!”

“I trust not.”

CHAPTER III

DISASTER

Old Dobbin pricked up his ears and kept royally to his task as he seemed to enter into the excitement of the moment.

Andy had practiced on the animal on several previous occasions.  Lumps of sugar and apples had rewarded Dobbin at the end of the performances for his faithful services.  He seemed now to remember this, as he galloped along towards the waiting group down the road.

Sometimes Andy had made the horseback somersault successfully.  Sometimes he had failed ignominiously and tumbled to the ground.  Just now he felt no doubt of the result.  The padded cushion cover was broad and steady.

He kept the horse close to the inner edge of the road.  The tree stump upon which Alf Warren stood just lined it.

By holding the hoop extended straight out, the horse’s body would pass directly under this.

Nearer and nearer steed and rider approached the point of interest.

The spectators gaped and squirmed, vastly excited, but silent now.

About one hundred feet away from the tree stump, Andy shouted out the quick word: 

“Ready.”

At once Alf Warren drew the match in his free hand across his coat sleeve.  It lighted.  He applied the ignited splinter to the edge of the hoop.

The oil-soaked covering took fire instantly.  The blaze ran round the circle.  The hoop burst into a wreath of light, darting flames.

Andy fixed a calculating eye on hoop and holder.

“Two inches lower,” he ordered—­“keep it firm.”

The horse seemed inclined to swerve at a sight of the fiery hoop.  Andy soothed Dobbin by word and kept him steady with the bridle reins.