ightful awe, but still more because they
dreaded lest the slightest stir or murmur should send him up, with the
speed of an arrow flight, into the farthest blue of the sky.

Finally, when he had had enough of rolling over and over, Pegasus turned
himself about, and, indolently, like any other horse, put out his fore
legs, in order to rise from the ground; and Bellerophon, who had guessed
that he would do so, darted suddenly from the thicket, and leaped
astride of his back.

Yes, there he sat, on the back of the winged horse!

But what a bound did Pegasus make, when, for the first time, he felt the
weight of a mortal man upon his loins! A bound, indeed! Before he had
time to draw a breath Bellerophon found himself five hundred feet aloft,
and still shooting upward, while the winged horse snorted and trembled
with terror and anger. Upward he went, up, up, up, until he plunged into
the cold misty bosom of a cloud, at which, only a little while before,
Bellerophon had been gazing, and fancying it a very pleasant spot. Then
again, out of the heart of the cloud, Pegasus shot down like a
thunderbolt, as if he meant to dash both himself and his rider headlong
against a rock. Then he went through about a thousand of the wildest
caprioles that had ever been performed either by a bird or a horse.

I cannot tell you half that he did. He skimmed straight forward, and
sideways, and backward. He reared himself erect, with his fore legs on a
wreath of mist, and his hind legs on nothing at all. He flung out his
heels behind, and put down his head between his legs, with his wings
pointing right upward. At about two miles' height above the earth, he
turned a somerset, so that Bellerophon's heels were where his head
should have been, and he seemed to look down into the sky, instead of
up. He twisted his head about, and, looking Bellerophon in the face,
with fire flashing from his eyes, made a terrible attempt to bite him.
He fluttered his pinions so wildly that one of the silver feathers was
shaken out, and floating earthward, was picked up by the child, who kept
it as long as he lived, in memory of Pegasus and Bellerophon.

But the latter (who, as you may judge, was as good a horseman as ever
galloped) had been watching his opportunity, and at last clapped the
golden bit of the enchanted bridle between the winged steed's jaws. No
sooner was this done, than Pegasus became as manageable as if he had
taken food all his life out of Beller