ng afterwards in consequence. This ride to Stavemoor was a
special pleasure in prospect. Both Aleck and I had wanted to go; but the
pony being mine, I had taken it as a matter of course that I should be
the one chosen, and my cousin had not thought of questioning my rights.
But now to hear my mother quietly proposing, not only that Aleck should
go, but that he should ride the gray--it was a sore trial to my
feelings: that gray had for months been the object of my ambition, but I
had not been thought a good enough rider to be trusted, and now that my
cousin should be thus promoted was hard to bear.

The colour mounted to my face when I heard the proposition, and then my
father's answer:--

"I am not sure about it; and yet the boy is at home in the saddle, and
has a firm seat. I'll speak to Rickson. Aleck's been looking pale of
late, and I think more rides than he can get when there's only the pony
between the two boys, would do him good."

"Papa," I said, with quivering lip and reproachful voice, "you've never
let _me_ ride the gray. It's always Aleck now--he gets everything, it
doesn't seem to matter about me."

My father gave one quick glance of surprise and consternation at my
mother, and then turned to me:--

"Willie! my own little Willie!" he said, pausing as if for an
explanation, and putting out his hand in a manner that meant I was to
come to his side, which I did rather slowly.

"I've so often asked you to let me ride the gray, papa, and you've never
allowed it, and now you're going to let Aleck. I don't want to go to
Stavemoor--Aleck may have the pony; I wish I had said so at first; I
don't want to ride the pony, and have him on the gray." And thereupon,
almost frightened by the evident distress my sentiments had occasioned,
I burst into a passionate fit of crying, which permitted only a few more
broken words to the effect that I wished Aleck had never come to
Braycombe; I hated his being there; and that my parents were very unkind
to care for him more than they did for me.

My father held me there at his side whilst I sobbed and cried as if some
tremendous calamity had overtaken me. I knew without looking up, which I
was ashamed to do, that his eyes were resting upon me with an expression
of sad surprise; and the silence became perfectly unbearable. He spoke
at last:--

"My poor little Willie," he said, "what sad feelings you have allowed to
creep into your heart! how unhappy they will make you! You h