The leader, by an almost imperceptible series of movements, first sitting down in her saddle, then slightly relaxing her hold of the reins, and turning both hands very slightly inward, brings her horse to a walk and continues on her way.  The others, with more or less awkwardness, come to a full stop, and your teacher laughs.

“When I say that,” he explains, “I mean to cease trotting, not to stop.  Go forward, and remember how you have been taught to go forward, Miss Esmeralda.  It is not enough to frown at your horse.  Now, prepare to trot!  Trot!” And then he repeats again and again that series of injunctions which already seems so threadbare to you, Esmeralda, but which you do not follow, not because you do not try, but because you have not full control of your muscles, and then comes once more the order, “Prepare to whoa.  Whoa!” and a volley of sharp reminders about the solemn duty of keeping a horse moving while turning corners, and once more the column proceeds as regularly as possible.

“I observe,” says your teacher, riding close to you, “that you seem timid, Miss Esmeralda.  Do you feel frightened.”

“No,” you assure him.

“Then it is because you are nervous that you are so rigid.  Try not to be stiff.  Give yourself a little more flexibility in the fingers, the wrists, the elbows, everywhere!  You are not tired?  No?  Be easy then, be easy!” And you remember that you have been likened unto a poker, and sadly think that, perhaps the comparison was just.

“The other master shall ride with you for a few rounds,” he continues; “that will give you confidence, and you will not be nervous.”  You indignantly disclaim the possession of nerves, he smiles indulgently, and the other teacher rides up beside you, and advises you steadily and quietly during the next succession of trotting and walking, and, conscious of not exerting yourself quite so much and of being easier, you begin to think that perhaps you have a nerve or two somewhere, and you determine to conquer them.

“You are sitting too far to the right now,” says your new guide, the most quiet of North Britons.  “There should be about half an inch of the saddle visible to you beyond the edge of your habit, if it fit quite smooth, but you would better not look down to se it.  It would do no harm for once, perhaps, but it would look queer, and might come to be a habit.  Try to judge of your position by the feeling of your shoulders and by thinking whether you are observing every rule; but, once in a great while, when you are walking, take your reins in your left hand, pass your right hand lightly along the edge of your saddle, ad satisfy yourself that you are quite correct in position.  If you be quite sure that you can take a downward glance, without moving your head, try it occasionally, but very rarely.  Use this, in fact, as you would use a measure to verify a drawing after employing every other test, and if any teacher notice you and reprove you for doing it, do not allow yourself to use it again for two or three lessons, for, unless you can be quiet about it, it is better not to use it at all.”