and mount. It was evident the encounter would be deadly.

Some hundred yards apart, with the perplexed, astonished old mares
facing each other, sat the warriors in their saddles, or, rather, in
the place where their saddles would have been had they possessed them.
Each grasped the headstall reins firmly in his left hand, and with his
right aimed his top-heavy lance in a somewhat wobbling manner at his
adversary. It must soon be known to all the world of knighthood which
was the grimmer champion! At middle distance and well to one side,
stood Grand Marshal Valentine, racking his brains for the lines which
should give the signal for the shock, but all in vain. Desperation
gave him inspiration. "Let 'er go for your girls!" he roared.

Never, even in the gentle and joyous passage of arms at Ashby, or on
the Field of the Cloth of Gold, was afforded a more thrilling spectacle
than when these two paladins rushed to the onset and met in mid-career.
Each gave a yell and dug his heels into his charger, and whacked her
with the butt end of his lance, and forced her into a ponderous gallop
for the meeting. It matters not now what was the precise intent of
either jouster, which of them aimed at gorget or head-piece, or at
shield, for--either because the flour bags made the lances difficult to
manage or of some unevenness in the ground--each missed his enemy in
the encounter! Not so the two old mares! They came together with a
mighty crash and rolled over in a great cloud of dust and grass and
mane and tail and boy and spear and flour-bag!

There is a providence that looks after reckless youth especially, else
there would have been broken bones, or worse; but out of the confusion
two warriors scrambled to their feet, dazed somewhat and dirty, but
unharmed, and two old mares floundered into their normal attitude a
little later, evidently much disgusted with the entire proceeding. And
Valentine, grand marshal, who had chanced to have a little difficulty
with his elder brother the day before, promptly awarded the honors of
the tournament to Grant on the ground that old Molly, the horse ridden
by Alfred, seemed a little more shaken up than the other.

Of course there were other books than those of chivalric doings which
appealed to this young reader so addicted to putting theory into
practice at all risks. "Robinson Crusoe," and Byron, and D'Aubigne's
"History of the Reformation," and "Midshipman Easy," and "Snarleyow,"
an