“You did not fall off,” the master comments, coiling the lash of the long whip with which he has stood beside the hurdle during Miss Nell’s performance, “but you did not guard yourself against falling when you went up, and had you had some horses, you might have come down before he did, although that is not so easy for a lady as it is for a man.  When you start for a leap, you must draw your right foot well back, so as to clasp the pommel with your knee, and just as the horse stops to spring upward, you must lean back and lift both hands a little, and then, when he springs, straighten yourself, feel proud and haughty, if you can, and, as he comes down, lean back once more and raise your hands again, because your horse will drop on his fore legs, and you desire him to lift them, that he may go forward before you do.  You should practise this, counting one, as you lean backward, drawing but not turning the hands backward and upward; two, as you straighten yourself wit the hands down, and three, as you repeat the first movement; and, except in making a water jump, or some other very long leap, the ‘two’ will be the shortest beat, as it is in the waltz.  And, although you must use some strength in raising your hands, you must not raise them too high, and you must not lean your head forward or draw your elbows back.  A jockey may, when riding in a steeplechase for money, but he will be angry with himself for having to do it, and a lady must not.  I would rather that you did not leap again to-day, because what I told you will only confuse you until you have time to think it over and to practise it by yourself in a chair.  And I would rather that you did not leap again in your own way, until you have let me see you do it once or twice more, at least.”

“You did not have to whip my horse to make him leap,” Nell says,

“The whip was not to strike him, but to show him what was ready for him if he refused,” says the master.  “One must never permit a horse to refuse without punishing bum, for otherwise he may repeat the fault when mounted by a poor rider, and a dangerous accident may follow.  One must never brutalize a horse—­indeed, no one but a brute does—­but one must rule him.”

By this time he has taken Nell from her saddle and is in the reception room where he finds you grouped and gazing at him in a manner rather trying even to his soldierly gravity, and decidedly amusing to the wise fairy, who glances at him with a laugh and betakes herself to her own little nest.

“My young ladies,” he says.  “I will show you one little leap, not high, you know, but a little leap sitting on a side saddle,” and, going out, he takes Nell’s horse, and in a minute you see him sailing through the air, light as a bird, and without any of the encouraging shouts used by some horsemen.  It is only a little leap, but it impresses your illogical minds as no skilfulness in the voltes and no haute ecole airs could do, for leaping is the crowning accomplishment of riding in the eyes of all your male friends except the cavalryman, and when he returns to the reception room, you linger in the hope of a little lecture, and you are not disappointed.