must, of course, know where they were going. With very rare
exceptions this rule had always worked to perfection. The very fact that
they might do as they chose, and were put upon their honor to uphold the
reputation and dignity of the school, usually acted as an incentive to
them to do so, whereas the eternal surveillance and suspicion of the
average school acts as a mighty inspiration to circumvent all
regulations.

Another pleasant feature of Saturday afternoons were the long riding
excursions through the beautiful surrounding country, with a groom
accompanying the party and with one of the girls acting as riding
mistress. Besides Peggy and Polly, Stella was the only girl who had her
own horse at Columbia Heights, the others riding those provided by the
school. They were good horses and the riding-master, Albert Dawson, was
supposed to be a good man, conscientious, painstaking, careful. He was
conventional to a degree. He taught the English seat, the English rise,
the English gait, and his horses were all docked and hogged in the
English fashion. Dawson would doubtless have taught them to drop their
H's as he himself did, had he been able to do so.

When Shashai and Silver Star arrived upon the scene, manes and forelocks
long and silky as a girl's hair, tails almost sweeping the ground and
flowing free, poor Dawson nearly died of outraged conventions, though he
was forced to admit that the Columbia Heights stables held no horseflesh
to compare with these thoroughbreds.

"But oh, my 'eart, look at that mess o' 'air and mind their paces. They
lopes along for all the world like them blooming little jackals we used
to 'ave bout in Hindia when I was in 'is Lordship's service. They'd ruin
my reputation if they was to be seen in the Row," he deplored to Jess,
who was grooming his pets as carefully as old Mammy would have brushed
Peggy's hair.

Jess gave a derisive snort. He had lived a good many more years than
Dawson and his experience with horseflesh was an exceptionally wide one.

"Well, yo'-all needn't be a troublin' yo' sperrits 'bout de gait ob dese
hyer horses. Dey kin set de pace fo' all dat truck yonder, an' don' yo'
fergit dat fac'. Yo's got some fairly-middlin'-good ones hyer," and Jess
nodded toward the stalls, "but dey's just de onery class, not de
quality. No-siree. Now, honey, don' yo' go fer ter git perjectin' none
cause I'se praisin' yo' to yo' face. Tain't good manners fer ter take
notice when yo's pr