Dick did it as modestly as he could, and his words were as simple and natural as a boy’s need be, when he was questioned at the mess-table about his ability to ride and knowledge of horses; but it all had to be dragged out of him in replies to questions.

“Oh,” he said, “I had something to do with horses for so long a time back. I must have been quite a tiny little fellow when my father used to take me up before him, and set me astride on his horse’s neck. I remember that the scrubby mane used to tickle my legs dreadfully. And I often toddled into the stable to feed the horses with fresh grass. My mother used to be frightened, but my father said the horses would not trample on me; and they never did. They used to reach down to look at me with their great eyes, and blow into my neck.”

“So that you became quite used to horses very early?” said the captain.

“Oh, yes; I never remember feeling afraid of a horse.”

“Your father kept good ones?” said Wyatt.

“Splendid ones to go, but he was only a country practitioner, fond of hunting, and he never gave much for one, I should say; but he was always one of the first flight in a run.”

“And he taught you to ride quite early?” said the captain.

Dick looked at him with rather a puzzled air.

“I don’t think he ever taught me,” said the lad thoughtfully. “He used to tell me to stick in my knees and hold tight. I rode so much that it came natural.”

“What was the first horse you had?” said Wyatt.

“It was a donkey.”

“A bull, Darrell!”

“No, no!” cried Dick, laughing; “but I had many a ride on the old bull at the farm close by. You have to keep your balance there, for your legs are stretched out, and you can’t hold on with your knees.”

“But you couldn’t go to the hunt on a donkey,” said Wyatt.

“Oh, but I did for two years; but then it was something like a donkey!” cried Dick, warming up with his old recollections. “He had a horrible temper, and he’d kick and bite, and try to wipe you off by rubbing against posts or walls; and when that wouldn’t do he used to squeal something like these Arab horses, and lie down and roll over and over.”

“What did you do then?” asked Wyatt.

“I waited till he got up and jumped on again.”

“A nice brute for a hunter.”

“He was,” said Dick, growing excited. “As soon as he found that he couldn’t go back to the field, he’d give in and canter off. The worst of it was, he used to spoil the saddles so with rolling. But you should have seen him go.”

“Donkeys do go,” said the captain dryly; “they’ve a pace of their own.”

“Oh, yes,” said Dick; “but old Thistle used to go after the pack like a greyhound. He was thin-legged and light, and he could jump like a buck; and when a hedge was too big he’d scramble up the bank, squeeze through, leap down, and be off again. We used to go over and through places which plenty of the gentlemen on their big hunters wouldn’t tackle. It used to be capital fun.”

“Ever have any falls?” said Wyatt.

“Oh, lots; but I never used to get much hurt. I didn’t mind. Old Thistle came down with me once in a ditch, and rolled over me. He broke my arm, though.”

“Father mend it?”

“Oh, yes; it soon grew together again. When I was bigger I had a pony; but he was never so fast as the donkey, and couldn’t keep up so long.”

“Indeed?”

“Nothing like it. That donkey would keep up to the end of a long run, and when it was over, and his saddle was off, he’d just have a roll and be ready to go on again.”

“After the pony came a horse, I suppose,” said the captain.

“I never had one of my own, but my father had a large practice and had to go very long distances. He always kept three horses, and I could have one of them whenever I liked. I used to ride round with him to visit his patients. He never cared about riding then. He had all the accidents to attend that happened at the hunt.”

“How was it you didn’t turn doctor?” said Hulton.

“Wanted to be a soldier,” said Dick shortly. “I used to want to have a commission in the cavalry; but my father said he had no interest to get me a commission, and I must go to the Company’s college at Addiscombe, and fight my way up so as to get into the horse brigade.”

“And you were a lucky fellow to get appointed so soon.”

“Yes; but my father knew Sir George Hemsworth, and he promised to help me if I could show a good set of testimonials from Addiscombe.”

“And I suppose you did?” said Captain Hulton.

“I don’t know,” replied Dick quietly. “I tried all I could; but I was dreadfully disappointed to find I had to go into the foot artillery first.”

“Thought you ought to have been appointed to the command of a troop of horse right off—eh?” said the captain.

Dick shook his head.

“I wasn’t quite so stupid as that, sir,” he said quietly.

“No, that you wouldn’t be, Darrell,” said the captain, smiling. “Well, I’ll tell you something. We were dreadfully disappointed when we found Sir George had interested himself in your being appointed to our crack troop, and Wyatt, there, said it was an abominable shame for some pampered scrap of a boy to be put into an important place, when hundreds of clever, experienced officers would have been glad to have such a feather in their caps.”

“Here I say—gently!” cried Wyatt, who had sat at the table staring. “I didn’t say that it was you.”

“Was it?”

“Of course it was.”

“Ah, yes, you’re right—I did,” said the captain coolly; “but you agreed to it.”

“Yes, I agreed to it all.”

“But we think differently, Darrell, now we have found out what sort of a fellow you are; and I’m speaking for old Wyatt here and myself when I tell you frankly that we’re very glad you’ve joined us, and may it be many, many years before we part.”

“Oh, thank you, Captain Hulton,” cried Dick warmly. “You’ve made me feel that I—yes, that I—I—I can’t say any more.”

“Nobody wants you to, my lad,” said the captain warmly. “We want acts, not words. You’ve done a thing to-day that has won over every man in the troop, and henceforth you’ll feel, I hope, that you are among friends.”

“I do!” cried Dick warmly.

“You mustn’t mind Wyatt. He’s a queer fellow, but he means well.”

“Here, I say—gently!” cried the gentleman named: but the captain went on as if no one had spoken:

“He’s big and old, but he’s a mere boy—not a bit older in brains than you are: but if you keep him in his place, I dare say you two will be able to get on together.”

“I say, I’m not going to stand this!” cried Wyatt.

He took his friend’s bantering remarks so seriously that Dick burst out laughing, making the lieutenant look annoyed for the moment; but by degrees a smile began to dawn upon his face.

“He sees the joke at last,” cried Captain Hulton. Then gravely: “Look here Wyatt; I want to talk to you about that ugly business.—It will not interest you, Darrell. It is something which occurred before you joined—court-martial.”

Dick took this as a hint that the matter was private, and he turned to converse with the next officer at the table—a sub-lieutenant in the detachment of foot artillery, very little older than himself.