"Be careful, Bobby," his mother warned.
"You need n't worry about me," Bobby called back gaily. "I'm not afraid of any horse living!"
Blue Gypsy never stood well, and Miss Ethel was already off. Bobby started to follow, but he wheeled about to say:
"You come, Billy; I don't want Peter."
"Bobby, dear," his mother expostulated, "you don't know the horse; it would be safer"
"I want Billy! I won't go if Peter has to come tagging along."
Peter removed his foot from the stirrup and passed the horse over to the groom. The cavalcade clattered off and he walked slowly back to the stables. He felt the slight keenly. He could remember when he had held Bobby, a baby in short dresses, on the back of his father's hunter, when he had first taught the little hands to close about a bridle. And now, when the boy had his first horse, not to
