Ben shouted ``Legs!'' and John kicked sturdily, losing his stirrups. Ben raised his arms as if scaring crows. Thunderclap jumped; John rose from the saddle and landed on his back in the grass.

Nanny rose in alarm. ``Oh what's happened, Mr. Hacket, is he hurt?''

``He's all right,'' said Ben.

``I'm all right,'' said John, ``I think she put in a short step.''

``Short step my grandmother. You just opened your bloody legs and took an arser. Keep hold on to the reins next time. You can lose a hunt that way.''

At the third attempt John got over and found himself, breathless and insecure, one stirrup swinging loose and one hand grabbing its old support in the mane, but still in the saddle.

``There, how did that feel? You just skimmed over like a swallow. Try it again?''

Twice more John and Thunderclap went over the little rail, then nanny called that it was time to go indoors for his milk. They walked the pony back to the stable. Nanny said, ``Oh dear, look at all the mud on your coat.''

Ben said, ``We'll have you riding the winner at Aintree soon.''

``Good morning, Mr. Hacket.''

``Good morning, miss.''

``Goodbye, Ben, may I come and see you doing the farm horses this evening?''

``That's not for me to say. You must ask nanny. Tell you what though, the grey carthorse has got worms. Would you like to see me give him a pill?''

``Oh yes, please, nanny, may I?''

``You must ask mother. Come along now, you've had quite enough of horses for one day.''

``Can't have enough of horses,'' said John, ``ever.'' On the way back to the house, he said, ``Can I have my milk in mummy's room?''

``That depends.''

Nanny's replies were always evasive, like that--`We'll see' or `That's asking' or `Those that ask no questions, hear no lies'--so unlike Ben's decisive and pungent judgments.