TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston

spring morning when I was watching him assist my
aunt into the saddle at her front door, he bent down to
adjust a strap, and having done this to his final satis-
faction made the following remark: "We'll soon have
to be looking out for a pony for Master George, 3m."

His tone of voice was cheerful but conclusive. My
aunt, who had, as usual, got her reins in a tangle,
probably showed symptoms of demurring. She was
at all times liable to be fussy about everything I did
or wanted to do. As a child I was nervous and un-
enterprising, but in this case her opposition may have
prejudiced me in favour of the pony. Had she insisted
on my learning to ride I should most likely have felt
scared and resentful.

As it was, I was full of tremulous elation when, one
afternoon a few weeks later, Dixon appeared proudly
parading a very small black pony with a flowing
mane and tail. My aunt, realizing that it was about
to become her property, admired the pony very much
and wondered whether it went well in harness. But
since it was already wearing a saddle, I soon found
myself, on its back, my aunt's agitated objections
were rapidly overruled, and my equestrianism be-
came an established fact. Grasping the pommel of
the saddle with both hands, I was carried down the
drive as far as the gate; the pony's movements were
cautious and demure: on the return journey Dixon
asked me whether I didn't think him a little beauty,
but I was speechless with excitement and could only
nod my assent. Even my aunt began to feel quite
proud of me when I relinquished my apprehensive
hold on the saddle and, for the first time in my life,
gathered up the reins. Dixon greeted this gesture
with a glance of approval, at the same time placing
a supporting hand on my shoulder.