h
chafing generally leads to some sort of an outbreak.

It was Wednesday afternoon, October twenty-ninth, and riding-lesson day.
Every Wednesday and Saturday Andrew Jackson Jefferson, whose name was as
queer a combination as himself, for he seemed to be about half _horse_,
so wonderful was his understanding of those animals, and so more than
wonderful _theirs_ of him, took his "yo'ng sem'nary ladies a-gallopin'
th'oo de windin's ob de kentry roads," proud as a Drum Major of his
charges.

And well he might be, for Andrew Jackson Jefferson had not only entire
charge of the horses belonging to Leslie Manor, but he had bought them,
and he knew good horseflesh. So the Leslie Manor horses as well as the
half dozen boarded there by the students, were always a credit to the
school. Their coats shone like satin, their hoofs were spick and span, no
shoes ever clicked for want of the proverbial nail, fetlocks were trimmed
like a bridegroom's hair, and manes and forelocks brushed to the
silkiness of a bride's. Harness and bits were scrupulous. Jefferson knew
his business.

When Apache was sent to Leslie Manor he was such a contrast to the other
horses that Jefferson at first looked askance at him, but Apache was a
wise little beast. As a preliminary move he gently nozzled Jefferson,
then by way of showing him that he was not to be taken too seriously, he
flew up into the air, executed a wild fling and descended upon the exact
spot from which he had risen, which exhibition so tickled Jefferson that
he grinned broadly and announced to his underlings:

"Dat's some hawse! Yo' hyar me! Befo' he's done been in dis hyre stable a
week he gwine ter be eatin' outer ma hand," and Apache verified the
statement by becoming Jefferson's abject slave before four days had
passed, and Beverly basked in reflected glory, for was she not Apache's
"Yo'ng Mist'ess?"

"Kyant tech dat chile nothin' 'bout _ridin'_", was Jefferson's fiat when
he saw Beverly astride her little mouse-colored and white mount. "_She_
paht ob dat hawse!"

There had already been several riding lessons since school opened, and
each time Jefferson's delight in his newest charges increased. Born and
brought up with the race, Beverly knew how to handle the negroes, and
Jefferson as promptly became her slave as Apache had become his.

Now the prescribed route for these riding excursions was within a
five-mile radius of the school. "No further," said Miss Woodhull. Those
bounds