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142 back and back on to it. 'If at first you don't succeed, try, try, and try again.' There, he's over now on the other side." Putting up his eye-glass, Tom inquired—"Are you sure he's not ill?"

"Which—the saddle or the horse? The former very much so. You old brute," cried Frank, "up you get!" When the creature stood and shook himself, Frank examined the saddle, and put the rein over a fence.

"I rode over," explained Tom, "and thought I'd let him stray about and feed."

"Please remember we don't do that here," remonstrated Frank. "Though fairly prosperous, we are compelled to consider saddlery and other little items."

"He's such a confounded height,"growled Tom. "I led him to half-a-dozen fences to scramble up, but the brute would walk off just as I got my foot in the stirrup. You see, I'm not used to riding."

"No, I should think not.—What are you doing over there?" continued Frank. "That's the wrong side of the horse, never fool about there. A skittish beast wouldn't stand it. Hullo!—look out, you'll pull the saddle over! What on earth are you at?"

"I'm just practising getting up while you are there. Don't let him lean away from the fence, please, as he always does when I want him to stand as close as he can; and don't, like a good fellow, allow him to go on when I'm half up. It's deuced undignified snatching for reins and pummel and the other stirrup that you can never find, while, like John Brown's soul, your nag will 'go marching on.'"

Frank roared.

"Why, you little fool, you're getting up the wrong side."

"Blow'd if I am," insisted Tom, with the little breath left in his round body, as he balanced on the backbone