ng. Great leather
straps held up this house on wheels, to take the jolts of the road. And
behind it was a platform. That morning two young negroes with flowing
blue coats stood on it. They leaped to the ground when the coach
stopped, and stood each side of the door, waiting for my lady to enter.

She came down the steps, laughing, with Mr. Riddle, who was in his
riding clothes, for he was to race that day. He handed her in, and got
in after her. The coachman cracked his whip, the coach creaked off
down the drive, I in the trees one side waiting for them to pass, and
wondering what Nick was to do. He had let go my bridle, folded his whip
in his hand, and with a shout of "Come on, Davy," he ran for the coach,
which was going slowly, caught hold of the footman's platform, and
pulled himself up.

What possessed the footman I know not. Perchance fear of his mistress
was greater than fear of his young master; but he took the lad by the
shoulders--gently, to be sure--and pushed him into the road, where he
fell and rolled over. I guessed what would happen. Picking himself up,
Nick was at the man like a hurricane, seizing him swiftly by the leg.
The negro fell upon the platform, clutching wildly, where he lay in a
sheer fright, shrieking for mercy, his cries rivalled by those of the
lady within. The coachman frantically pulled his horses to a stand, the
other footman jumped off, and Mr. Harry Riddle came flying out of the
coach door, to behold Nicholas beating the negro with his riding-whip.

"You young devil," cried Mr. Riddle, angrily, striding forward, "what
are you doing?"

"Keep off, Harry," said Nicholas. "I am teaching this nigger that he
is not to lay hands on his betters." With that he gave the boy one more
cut, and turned from him contemptuously.

"What is it, Harry?" came in a shrill voice from within the coach.

"It's Nick's pranks," said Mr. Riddle, grinning in spite of his anger;
"he's ruined one of your footmen. You little scoundrel," cried Mr.
Riddle, advancing again, "you've frightened your mother nearly to a
swoon."

"Serves her right," said Nick.

"What!" cried Mr. Riddle. "Come down from there instantly."

Nick raised his whip. It was not that that stopped Mr. Riddle, but a
sign about the lad's nostrils.

"Harry Riddle," said the boy, "if it weren't for you, I'd be riding in
this coach to-day with my mother. I don't want to ride with her, but
I will go to the races. If you try to take me down, I'l