But that race was not to end so quickly.  Shashai boasted the same blood as Silver Star, and was every bit as intelligent as his older brother.  Moreover he had no mind to give up his treasure-trove.  He knew that little bag and its contents too well and was minded to carry it to the end of the paddock and there rend and tear it, until its contents were spilled and he could eat his companions’ share as well as his own.  And that was exactly what Peggy did not propose to permit, either for his well-being or in justice to the other pets.

As the extraordinary game of tag ranged around the big paddock, Polly fairly danced up and down in excitement, crying: 

“Tanta, Tanta, I didn’t know any one could ride like that girl.  Why it is more wonderful than a circus.  And isn’t she beautiful?  Oh, I want to know her better.  I am sure she must be a perfect dear.  Why if I could ever ride half as well I’d be the proudest girl in the world.”

“And how simply and unostentatiously she does everything.  Polly, I suspect we shall be the richer for several things besides a handsome horse when we return to Wilmot.”

Meanwhile Peggy was bearing down upon the thief and his plunder, though he darted and dodged like a cat, but in an unguarded moment he gave Star the advantage and was cornered.

“Shashai, halt!  Steady.  Down.  My pardon.”

Never was human speech more perfectly understood and obeyed.  The game was up and the superb horse stopped, dropped upon his knees and touched the ground with his muzzle, the bag still held in his teeth.

“Up, Shashai,” and the horse was again upon his feet.

Peggy reached over and taking hold of his flowing forelock led him back to the gate.  Nothing could have been more demure than the manner in which he minced along beside her.  At the gate Peggy slipped from Star’s back as snow slips from a sunny bank, and stretching forth her hand said: 

“Give it to me, Shashai.”

The mischievous colt dropped the bag into her hand.

“Good boy,” and a caress rewarded the reformed one.

Then Polly’s enthusiasm broke forth.

How had she ever done it?  Who had taught her to ride like that?  Could she, Polly, ever hope to do so?

Peggy laughed gaily, and explained Shelby’s methods as best she could, giving a little outline of her life on the estate which held a peculiar interest for Mrs. Harold, who read more between the lines than Peggy guessed, and who then and there resolved to know something more of this unusual girl to whose home they had been so curiously led.  She had been thrown with young people all her life and loved them dearly, and here to her experienced eyes was a rare specimen of young girlhood and her heart warmed to her.

“I’d give anything to ride as you do,” said Polly quite in despair of ever doing so.