"Your father was a wise man, sir; and you ride capitally."

"Our riding-master said my seat was everything that was bad."

"Bah! He is a mechanic, and wants every man to ride like a pair of
compasses slung across a rail. Don't you spoil your seat to please any
of them. I like to see a man sit a horse as if he belonged to it. Then
he can use his sword."

How proud he was of his regiment. "Look at them," he would say; "only
that they are a little curved in the upper leg, they are as fine a set
of men as you will find in any English regiment; and if it was not for
their black faces, they would pass for Guards."

He was very kind to them, and set a splendid example to his officers,
but, unfortunately, they did not follow his example. In fact, the whole
of the English people at the station treated the black race as if they
were inferior beings; and though every one in Rajgunge was humble and
servile to the whites, it always seemed to me as if they were civil only
because they were obliged.

I used to talk to Brace about it sometimes, and he would agree.

"But what can you expect?" he said. "They are a conquered race, and of
a different religion. I question whether, with the kindest treatment,
we should ever make them like us; but we never try."

I did not say anything, but thought that the black servants were always
ready and eager to attend to him, and I never had any difficulty in
getting things done; and often after that I used to wonder that a man
like Ny Deen should patiently put up with the brutal insult and
ill-usage he met with from Barton, who treated him like a dog, while
like a dog the Indian used to patiently bear all his abuse and blows.

"Does him good," Barton said to me one day, with an ugly grin, because
it annoyed me. "See what a good servant it makes him. You're jealous,
Vincent. You want him yourself."

"Yes," I said, "I should like to have him, and show him that all English
officers are not alike."

"Do you mean that as an insult, sir?" he cried.

"I meant it more as a reproach," I replied coolly.

"Look here, Vincent," he said hotly, "I have put up with a good deal
from you since you have been in the troop, and I don't mean to stand
much more from such a boy."

"Really, Barton--" I began.

"Stop, sir, please, and hear me out. Ever since I joined, and as far
back as I can hear of, it has been considered a feather in a man's cap
to belong to the horse artillery. Many a fine fe