"All right,
boy!" she cried, and, at the invitation, Panchito pricked up his ears and
broke into an easy canter, gradually increasing his speed and taking the
gate apparently without effort. Don Mike watched to see the girl rise
abruptly in her seat as the horse came down on the other side of the
gate. But no! She was still sitting down in the saddle, her little
hands resting lightly on the horse's neck; and while Farrel watched her
in downright admiration and her mother sat, white and speechless on the
black mare, Kay galloped ahead a hundred yards, turned, and came back
over the gate again.
"Oh, isn't he a darling?" she cried. "He pulls his feet up under him
like a dog, when he takes off. I want to take him over a seven-foot
hurdle. He can do it with yours truly up. Let's build a seven-foot
hurdle to-morrow and try him out."
"Fine! We'll build it," Don Mike declared enthusiastically, and Parker,
watching his wife's frightened face, threw back his head and laughed.
"You are encouraging my daughter to kill herself," the older woman
charged Farrel. "Kay, you tomboy, do not jump that gate again! Suppose
that horse should stumble and throw you."
"Nonsense, mother. That's mere old hop-Scotch for Panchito. One doesn't
get a jumping-jack to ride every day, and all I've ever done has been to
pussyfoot through Central Park."
"Do you mean to tell me you've never taken a hurdle before?" Don Mike
was scandalized.
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