“I like this kind of trot,” you say sweetly.  “It’s easier than the other kind.”

“It isn’t a trot; it’s a canter,” says your master, with a suspicion of dryness in his voice, “but you may make him trot if you like.  Shorten both reins, especially the left.  Whoa, Charlie!  Wait until I say ‘Now,’ before you do it!  Shorten both reins, especially the left; that will keep him to the wall, Then extend your left arm a little, and draw back your right; draw back your left and extend your right, and repeat until he comes down to a trot.  That saws his mouth, and gives him something besides scampering to occupy his mind.  Now we will start up again at a canter.  Lengthen your reins, but remember to shorten them when you want to trot.”

“Shall I tell you before hand, so that you may have time to make your horse trot, too?” you ask.

Esmeralda, you must have been reading one of those sweet books on etiquette which advise the horsewoman to be considerate of her companions.  How much notice do you think your master requires to “make his horse trot”?  You will blush over the memory of that question next year, although now you feel that you have been very ladylike, even very Christian, in putting it, for have you not shown that your temper is unruffled and that you are thinking how to make others happy?

Your master answers that his horse may be trusted, and that if you prefer to take your own time to change from the canter to the trot, rather than to wait for him to say, “Now,” you may do so.  And the canter begins again, and, after a round or two, you try the mouth-sawing process, doing it very well, for it is an ugly little trick at best, rarely found necessary by an accomplished rider, and beginners seldom fail to succeed in it at the very first attempt.  If it were pretty and graceful, it would be more difficult.  Down to the trot comes the obedient Charles, and up you go one, two, three, four!  And down you come, until you really expect to find yourself and the saddle in the tan between the two halves of your horse.

Of what can the creature’s spinal column be made, to bear such a succession of blows!  You begin by pitying the horse, but after about half a circuit, you think that human beings have their little troubles also, and you feel a suspicion of sarcasm in your master’s gentle:  “You need not do French trot any longer, unless you like.  It will be easier for you to rise.”

You give a frantic hop in your stirrup at the wrong minute, and begin a series of jumps in which you and the horse rise on alternate beats, by which means your saddle receives twice as much pounding as at first, and then you have breath enough left to gasp “Stop,” and in a second you are walking along quietly, and your master is saying in a matter-of-fact way:  “You would better keep your left heel down all the time, and turn the toe toward the horse’s side and keep your right foot and leg close to the saddle below the knee; swing yourself up and down as a man does; don’t drop like a lump of lead.”