“Ride her!” I cried with the bravest scorn, for she looked so kind and gentle; “there never was horse upon Exmoor foaled, but I could tackle in half an hour.  Only I never ride upon saddle.  Take them leathers off of her.”

He looked at me with a dry little whistle, and thrust his hands into his breeches-pockets, and so grinned that I could not stand it.  And Annie laid hold of me in such a way that I was almost mad with her.  And he laughed, and approved her for doing so.  And the worst of all was—­he said nothing.

“Get away, Annie, will you?  Do you think I’m a fool, good sir!  Only trust me with her, and I will not override her.”

“For that I will go bail, my son.  She is liker to override thee.  But the ground is soft to fall upon, after all this rain.  Now come out into the yard, young man, for the sake of your mother’s cabbages.  And the mellow straw-bed will be softer for thee, since pride must have its fall.  I am thy mother’s cousin, boy, and am going up to house.  Tom Faggus is my name, as everybody knows; and this is my young mare, Winnie.”

What a fool I must have been not to know it at once!  Tom Faggus, the great highwayman, and his young blood-mare, the strawberry!  Already her fame was noised abroad, nearly as much as her master’s; and my longing to ride her grew tenfold, but fear came at the back of it.  Not that I had the smallest fear of what the mare could do to me, by fair play and horse-trickery, but that the glory of sitting upon her seemed to be too great for me; especially as there were rumours abroad that she was not a mare after all, but a witch.  However, she looked like a filly all over, and wonderfully beautiful, with her supple stride, and soft slope of shoulder, and glossy coat beaded with water, and prominent eyes full of docile fire.  Whether this came from her Eastern blood of the Arabs newly imported, and whether the cream-colour, mixed with our bay, led to that bright strawberry tint, is certainly more than I can decide, being chiefly acquaint with farm-horses.  And these come of any colour and form; you never can count what they will be, and are lucky to get four legs to them.

Mr. Faggus gave his mare a wink, and she walked demurely after him, a bright young thing, flowing over with life, yet dropping her soul to a higher one, and led by love to anything; as the manner is of females, when they know what is the best for them.  Then Winnie trod lightly upon the straw, because it had soft muck under it, and her delicate feet came back again.

“Up for it still, boy, be ye?” Tom Faggus stopped, and the mare stopped there; and they looked at me provokingly.

“Is she able to leap, sir?  There is good take-off on this side of the brook.”

Mr. Faggus laughed very quietly, turning round to Winnie so that she might enter into it.  And she, for her part, seemed to know exactly where the fun lay.

“Good tumble-off, you mean, my boy.  Well, there can be small harm to thee.  I am akin to thy family, and know the substance of their skulls.”