“It’s the last time,” he said aloud—­meaning that Mrs. Fortescue would have to submit to his judgment in horses and let Birdseye alone.

What happened next turned the Colonel’s resolution to adamant.  A trooper was leading Pretty Maid away and another trooper was about to do the same for Birdseye when the black mare suddenly threw her head down and her heels up.  Mrs. Fortescue kept her seat, while the mare, backing, and kicking as she backed, knocked over a couple of the passing color guard, and only by adroitness the color sergeant saved the flag from being dropped to the ground.  Meanwhile, the two troopers, falling backward, collided with the chaplain, a small, meek man, as brave as a lion, who stopped to look and was ignominiously bowled over.  Sergeant McGillicuddy, just coming out of the office entrance, made a dash forward and grabbed Birdseye by the bridle.  The mare, still unable to unseat Mrs. Fortescue or to break away from the wiry little Sergeant, yet managed to scatter all the official mail in the Sergeant’s hand on the snow.  Kettle, who could not have remained away from “Miss Betty” under such circumstances to save his life, dropped the baby on the drawing-room floor and rushed out.  This the After-Clap resented, shrieking wildly.

[Illustration:  The black mare suddenly threw her head down and her heels up.]

The combination of the kicking mare, the fallen troopers, the prostrate chaplain, and the screaming baby at once determined Colonel Fortescue to remain in his office; what he had to say to Mrs. Fortescue would not sound well in public.  Unlike Kettle, Colonel Fortescue had no fear whatever for Mrs. Fortescue, and watched calmly from the window as Sergeant McGillicuddy brought Birdseye to her four feet.  Mrs. Fortescue sprang to the ground and apologized gracefully to the chaplain, assuring him that Birdseye was the best disposed horse in the world, except when she was in a temper and her temper was merely bashfulness and stage fright.

“Whatever it is,” answered Chaplain Brown, smiling while he rubbed a bruised shin, “it hurts.  It hurts pretty badly, too.”

Next, Mrs. Fortescue apologized profusely to the troopers who had been knocked down by the bashful Birdseye.  After their kind, they preferred a kicker to a non-kicker, and accepted, with delighted grins, Mrs. Fortescue’s sweet words.  But it was another thing when Mrs. Fortescue had to face a frowning husband.

Mrs. Fortescue tripped into the Colonel’s office, and going up to Colonel Fortescue gave him two soft kisses and a lovely smile, and this is what she got in return, in the Colonel’s parade-ground voice: 

“I supposed I had made myself perfectly clear, Elizabeth, in regard to your riding that kicking mare.”

“But, darling,” replied Mrs. Fortescue, “I thought you wouldn’t mind.  And please don’t call me Elizabeth.  It breaks my heart.”

“I must ask—­in fact, insist—­that you shall not ride that mare again,” answered the Colonel sternly, without taking any notice of Mrs. Fortescue’s breaking heart.