Poor little Orion scrambled in deadly terror on to his small feet; but the horse still went swift and smooth, neither budging nor turning to the right or the left.  Diana once again cracked her whip.  He went faster and faster.  Orion began to lose his fear; he even laughed with excitement; the rose bloom came out on his delicate little face.  The terrible hoops were brought, and the child made a manful effort to get through them.  Diana cracked her whip and called out and encouraged him, and finally brought him successfully through the ordeal.  He was taken off the stage wet with perspiration, and trembling all over, but at the same time he had a wild sort of triumph in his little heart.

“I did it well; didn’t I, Aunt Sarah?” he said.

“You did it splendidly, my little love,” said Aunt Sarah; “but I never did see a little gal like your sister.  Oh, merciful Heavens! that man aint never a-going to let her ride Pole Star!”

A black horse of immense strength and size was now brought upon the stage.  This horse seemed to paw the air as he walked; his eyes were bloodshot and full of a dangerous light.

“Remember it’s your own fault, missy,” said Uncle Ben; “this aint the ’orse I’d give you.  I don’t want any harm to come to you; but if you insist on that little chap, that aint a patch on you, riding Greased Lightning, why, there aint nothing for it but for you to ride Pole Star.”

“You don’t ’uppose I’s fwightened of Pole Star?  Why, he’s a weal beauty,” said Diana.

“He’s the——­” The man arrested the words on his lips.

Diana had thrown down her whip and rushed across the stage.  With just the same fearless confidence as, half an hour before, she had gone up to Greased Lightning—­she now approached Pole Star.

“You’s pwetty, you’s a darlin’,” she said.  She held out her tiny brown hand.  “Give me a bit of sugar, somebody,” she demanded.

A girl who stood near ran away to fetch a lump.  The child offered it to the horse.  He looked at her, pawed the ground restlessly, and then, stooping, licked the sugar off her hand as tenderly as if he were a kitten.

“Well, I never!” said Uncle Ben, breathing a great sigh of relief.

“It’s a beauty horse,” repeated Diana; “I like it better nor G’eased Lightning.  Pole Star, I’s going to wide you; you’s a dear, good horse.”  She stroked the creature’s nose—­the fierce eyes grew gentle—­a moment later the child was mounted on its back.

“Now, gee up, gee up!” called Diana.  “P’ease, Uncle Ben, don’t cwack your whip; I can manage Pole Star.”  She pulled at the reins, and the creature began, at first gently and then more rapidly, to run round and round the stage.  After all, notwithstanding her bravery, it was an ordeal, for Pole Star could run double as fast as Greased Lightning.  Soon, from running he seemed to take to flying, and little Diana gasped and lost her breath; but she sat firm as a statue, and never touched a hair of the creature’s mane.