“Pull out, Brand,” grunted the old trainer.

The little jockey yielded the lead to Albert, and joined the group of watchers.

The lads continued their patrol.

“What’s the going like on the top there, Brand?” asked the old man.

“Not so bad, sir,” the other answered.  “Tidy drop o dew, I reck’n.”

Make-Way-There, now she had the lead, showed a tendency to swagger.  She bounced and tossed.  The fair lad, swaying to the motions of his horse, rode the fretting creature patiently and well.

“She’s a bit okkud yet,” said Monkey, watching critically. “Woa, my lady.  Woa then.”

“It’s the condition comin’ out of her,” muttered Mat.  “She’s all of a bubble.  Fret herself into a sweat.  Boy, you’d better take her.  Send her along five furlongs smart and bustle her a bit as she comes up the slope.”

“No,” said the girl.

The old man threw a swift glance at her.

Boy had stuck her toes in again.  He knew all the symptoms of old and made no effort to overcome them.  She was growing into a woman, Boy was.  That was the young man.  A while back she cared not a rap for all the men in creation.

The old man made a mental note for reference to Ma.

“Albert can ride her,” said the girl.  “I want to see if he’s coming on.”

Jerry, the true prophet, winked; Stanley jobbed the black in the mouth and kicked him; Albert, his face firm and important, drew out.  He had at least one of the qualities of a jockey—­supreme self-confidence.

“Take her along at three-quarter speed till you get round them goss-bushes,” growled Old Mat.  “And when you feel the hill against you shove her for a furlong.  Don’t ride her out.  And no fancy pranks, mind.”

“And sit still,” said the girl.

“Jerry, you take him along,” continued the trainer.

The lads made sundry guttural noises in their throats, leaned forward as though to whisper in their horses’ ears, and stole easily away.

A flash of swift feet, a diminishing thunder of hooves, and the pair made a broad sweep round the gorse-clump and came racing home.

Once the girl spoke.

“Keep your hands quiet,” she ordered deeply.

Opposite them Jerry took a pull, but Albert and the mare went thundering past the watching group, the lad’s fair head bowed over his horse’s withers.  He had her fairly extended, yet going well within herself, her head tucked into her chest.

On the ridge behind them he steadied to a walk, jumped off, and led the mare, breathing deep and flinging the foam abroad, down to the party.

“That’s a little bit o’ better,” muttered the old man.  “She can slip it.  That lad’ll ride yet, Boy.”

“Perhaps; but don’t tell him so,” said the girl sharply.

She walked her pony across to the lad, and laid her hand on the mare’s wet neck.

“That’s a little better to-day, Albert,” she said.  “But you ought to steady a bit before you come.”