“A first-classman is a lordly being who is generally at odds with a second-classman, but inclined to protect a third-classman, or youngster, simply because the second-classman is inclined to make life a burden for him, just as he in turn is ready to torment the life out of a fourth-classman, or plebe.  I am just beginning to understand it.  It seemed perfectly ridiculous at first, but I guess some of those boys are the better for the running they get.  I’ve only been here since the first of October, but I’ve learned a whole lot in four weeks.  Maybe you will come over to see us some time and you will understand better then.”

“I’d love to, I am sure.  But may I offer you something more?  No?  Then perhaps we would better go down to the paddock.”

They stepped from the piazza and walked through the beautifully kept garden.  On either side late autumn flowers were blooming, the box hedges were a deep, waxen green, and gave forth a rich, aromatic odor.  Polly cried: 

“I just can’t believe that you—­you—­why that you are the mistress of all this.  I don’t believe you can be one bit older than I am.”

“I was fourteen last January,” answered Peggy simply.

“And I fifteen last August,” cried Polly with the frankness of her years.

“Then you are exactly five months older than I am, aren’t you?” Peggy’s smile was wonderfully winning.

“And when I look at all this and hear you talk I feel just about five years younger,” was Polly’s frank reply.  “Why I’ve never done a single thing in my life.’’

“Not one?” asked Mrs. Harold, smiling significantly.

“Oh well, nothing like all this,” protested Polly.

They had now reached a large inclosure.  At the further end were a number of low buildings, evidently stables.  Nearer at hand, outside the inclosure, were larger buildings—­barns and offices.  The inclosure was still soft and green in its carpeting of turf and patches of clover.  Eight or ten horses were running at large, free and halterless.  Further on was another inclosure in which several brood mares were grazing quietly or frisking about with, their colts.  Some had come to the high paling to gaze inquiringly at the strangers.

“Oh, Tanta, Tanta, just look at them,” cried Polly in a rapture.  “And which is to be mine?”

“None of those spindle-legs yonder,” was Peggy’s amused answer.  “They will be running at large for a long time yet.  I don’t even begin training them until they are a year old—­at least not in anything but loving and obeying me.  But most of them learn that very quickly.  You must look in this paddock for Silver Star, Miss Polly.  Shall I call him?”

“Will he really come?” asked Polly incredulously.

For answer Peggy slipped into the paddock, saying as she shot back the bolt: 

“We used to have a much simpler fastening, but they learned how to undo it and make their escape.  For that reason we are obliged to have these high fences.  They have a strain of hunter blood and a six-foot barrier doesn’t mean much to some of them.”