“But I can’t drive,” said little Arthur.

“I know that,” his father said, with a smile, “but I think we can manage it.  Here, Joseph!” he called out to the hired man, “hurry and bring Arthur’s horse.”

“Oh, papa!” cried Arthur, “I don’t want my horse.  I can’t take a real ride on him.  He’s wooden, and I was tired of him long ago.  I thought you meant for me to take a real ride,” and the little fellow’s eyes filled with tears.

“So I do, my son,” said his father, “and here comes the horse on which you are to take it.  Is that animal real enough for you, sir?”

Around the corner came Joseph, leading a plump little black pony, with a long tail and mane, and a saddle, and bridle, and stirrups.

Arthur was so astonished and delighted that at first he could not speak.

“Well, what do you think of him?” said his father.

“Is that my horse?” said Arthur.

“Yes, all your own.”

Arthur did not go to look at his pony.  He turned and ran into the house, screaming at the top of his voice: 

“Mother! mother!  I’ve got a pony!  Come quick!  I’ve got a pony—­a real pony!  Aunt Rachel!  I’ve got a pony, Laura!  Laura! come, I’ve got a pony!”

When he came out again, his father said:  “Come now, get on and try your new horse.  He has been waiting here long enough.”

But Arthur was so excited and delighted, and wanted so much to run around his pony and look at him on all sides, and kept on telling his father how glad he was to get it, and how ever so much obliged he was to him for it, and what a good man he was, and what a lovely pony the pony was, that his father could hardly get him still enough to sit in the saddle.

However, he quieted down after a while, and his father put him on the pony’s back, and shortened the stirrups so that they should be the right length for him, and put the reins in his hands.  Now he was all ready for a ride, and Arthur wanted to gallop away.

“No, no!” said his father, “you cannot do that.  You do not know how to ride yet.  At first your pony must walk.”

So Arthur’s father took hold of the pony’s bridle and led him along the carriage-way in front of the house, and as the little boy rode off, sitting up straight in the saddle, and holding proudly to the reins, his mother and his aunt and his sister Laura clapped their hands, and cheered him; and this made Arthur feel prouder than ever.

He had a good long ride, up and down, and up and down, and the next day his father took him out again, and taught him how to sit and how to guide his pony.

In a week or two Arthur could ride by himself, even when the pony was trotting gently; and before long he rode all over the grounds, trotting or cantering or walking, just as he pleased.

The pony was a very gentle, quiet creature, and Arthur’s father felt quite willing to trust his little boy to ride about on him, provided he did not go far from home.