le.
Presently, with a great noise and clatter of hoofs, the coach rounded the
drive, the powdered negro coachman pulling up the four horses with much
ceremony at the door. It was a wondrous great vehicle, the bright colors
of its body flashing in the morning light. I had examined it more than
once, and with awe, in the coach-house. It had glass windows and a lion
on a blue shield on the door, and within it was all salmon silk, save the
painted design on the ceiling. 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.
Ridd