"
"Oh, I don't want any now," I replied politely.
"Well, if you don't mind my asking, what _do_ you want?"
"I want," I said, desperately, "to see your groom for a moment, if
possible."
"He's gone to town," she replied. "Is there anything I can do? I see
that your stirrup leather is twisted." With that she arose, came down,
removed my foot from the stirrup, in a businesslike manner, reversed the
iron, and put my foot back for me.
I thanked her.
"Anything else?" she asked, her wicked eye twinkling.
"Perhaps," I ventured, "perhaps you know how to make a horse
single-foot?"
"There are different ways," she said. "With Dr. Bell you might try using
the curb gently, working it from side to side."
"I will," I said. "Thank you very much."
"And," said the girl, "if he ever takes a notion to bolt with you, or to
go up to some house where you don't want him to go, just touch him with
the curb. That will fix him. He's very soft-bitted."
"But I tried that," I protested.
She looked at my reins, then shook her head.
"No," she said, "you've got your curb rein and your snaffle rein mixed."
"I am very much indebted to you," I said, as I changed the position of
the reins between my fingers.
"Not at all," said she. "I hope you'll get safely back to the Claymont.
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