As has no doubt already been suspected, Alfred Dawson, Riding Master at the Columbia Heights School, was such a complete impostor that he actually imposed upon himself. He is by no means the only one on record. Oddly enough we are all more or less impostors, blind to our own pet foibles, deluded as to our own little weaknesses. Dawson's methods with his charges, both two-footed and four, were the methods of thousands of others, whether they have the directing of young people, or the training of animal's entrusted to them. Like grains of corn—pour them into a hopper and they come out at the other end meal—of some sort—good—bad or indifferent as it happens—that was not his concern; his job was to pour in the grains and he knew of but one way to pour—just as someone else had poured before him. That he might devise new and better methods of pouring never entered his square-shaped head. It was left for a fifteen-year-old girl, and an old darky, whom in his secret heart he regarded as no better than the dirt beneath his feet, to start volcanic eruptions destined to shake the very foundations of his self-complacence. Hitherto he had simply been lord of his realm. He had come to Columbia Heights highly recommended by the father of one of its pupils and had assumed undisputed control. Mrs. Vincent, like hundreds of other women who own horses, but who know about as much concerning their care and well-being as they know of what is needful for a Rajah's herd of elephants, judged wholly by the outward evidences. The horses came to the house in seemingly faultless condition: their coats shone, their harness seemed immaculate; they behaved in a most exemplary manner. Nor had anything ever happened to the young ladies while they were in Dawson's care. What more could a conscientious school Principal ask of her riding master? It had never occurred to her to appear in the stables when least expected; to examine harness, saddles, stalls, feed mangers, bedding; to study the expressions of her horses' faces as she would have studied her girls. How many women ever think of doing so? It never entered her head to argue that there was more reason for it. Few of her girls would have hesitated to express their minds had any one misused them, or to insist upon comfortable conditions should uncomfortable ones exist for them.

Yet Mrs. Vincent, sweet, strong, kind, and just to everyone, was as blind as a babe to the impositions practiced by the oily-tongued, deferential Dawson. True, he did 'get upon her nerves' now and again, but she secretly reproached herself for what she felt to be her American prejudices, and by way of self-discipline overlooked in Dawson many little aggravating peculiarities which she would have felt it her duty to instantly correct in the other servants.

And no doubt things would have gone on in exactly the same way indefinitely had not a little lassie who loved horses and animals as she loved human beings, and whose understanding of them and their understanding of her was almost uncanny, chosen Columbia Heights School for her Alma Mater.

That was a red letter hour for Dawson. He had a vague feeling that some influence, perhaps his evil genius, was bestirring itself. At all events, he was ill at ease, something of his accustomed self-conceit was lacking and he was, as the result, somewhat irritable, though he dared not manifest open resentment.

Now it need hardly be stated that Peggy had no premeditated intention of antagonizing the man. He meant no more to her than dozens of other grooms, for after all he was merely an upper servant, but her quick eyes had instantly made some discoveries which hurt her as a physical needle prick would have hurt her. Peggy had employed too many men at Severndale under Shelby's wonderful judgment and experience of both men and animals, not to judge pretty accurately, and most intuitively, the type of man mounted upon big, gray "Duke." Duke's very ears and eyes told Peggy and Polly a little story which would have made Dawson's pale blue eyes open wider than usual could he have translated it.

As Peggy and Polly went cavorting away across the ring, Dawson called rather peremptorily:

"Young ladies, you will be good enough to come back and take your places beside the others. This is a riding lesson, not a circus show, hif you please."

Polly shot a quick glance at Peggy. There was the slightest possible pressure of their knees and Shashai and Silver Star glided back to their places beside the other four horses.

"Now you will please 'old your reins and your bodies as the other young ladies do," commanded Dawson.

"Never could do it in this world, Dawson. I'd have a crick in my back in two minutes. Besides, we're not out here for lessons, Miss Stewart and I, but just as spectators. We'll look on and see the other girls learn the proper caper," laughed Polly.

"Then I can't for the life of me hunderstand why you came hout at all. Hit's just a-stirrin' hup and a-fidgeting the other 'orses. They're not used to the goin's hon of 'alf broke hanimals."

"Half broken! It seems to me, Dawson, that most horses are wholly broken but very few wholly trained. If we disturb the others, however, we'll go off for a spin by ourselves. Come, Polly. Full speed, Tzaritza! Four bells, Shashai!" and away sped the trio, Tzaritza, like the obedient creature she was, bounding from the platform where Peggy had bidden her "charge," lest she startle the horses.

"I'll hopen the gate for you, Miss," Dawson hastened to call, a trifle doubtful as to whether he had not been just a little too dictatorial.

"No need. This gate is nothing," called Peggy and as one, they skimmed over the four-foot iron gate as though it were four inches, hands waving, eyes alight, lips parted in gay laughter. Tzaritza's joyful bark mingling with their voices as she rushed away.

The girls' cries of admiration or amazement drowned Dawson's:

"Well, 'Hi'll be blowed! Hi couldn't a done hit like that to save me 'ead," which was quite true, for very few could ride as these young girls rode.

Meanwhile back in the circle two of Dawson's pupils were expressing themselves without reserve.

"I mean to learn to ride like that," announced Rosalie Breeze. "The idea of bouncing up and down in a stupid old side-saddle when we could just as well sit as Polly and Peggy do. Why, I never saw anything as graceful as those two girls in my life. Can't you show me how, Dawson? If you can't you can just make up your mind I am going to find someone who can. Jack-o'-Lantern's sure enough disgusted with this show-down, and I believe that's the reason he has no more spirit than a bossy-cow."

"I'm going to speak to Mrs. Vincent," announced Juno. "This may be all very conventional and correct, but all I can do is rise and fall in a trot; I'm petrified if Lady Belle breaks into a canter, and if she were to leap over that fence, I'd break my neck. Yet did you ever see anything so graceful as those two girls and that magnificent dog when they went over? I tell you, girls, we've got something worth while in this school now, believe me. And just you wait!" and with this cryptic ending Juno jockeyed ahead of her companions.

"I wish mother could have seen and heard it all," whispered Natalie.

"Then why don't you tell her, and ask her to come out and see those girls ride," demanded Rosalie.

"That's exactly what I mean to do," replied Natalie, with an emphatic little nod. "I'm beginning to believe we don't know half we should know about the stables."

"I should imagine that Mrs. Vincent would be a far better judge of what was proper for young ladies than a couple of perfectly lawless girls who have been brought up on a Southern ranch or something. I call them perfect hoydens and they would not be countenanced a moment in the Back Bay," was Isabel's superior opinion.

"A Southern ranch?" echoed Rosalie, "You're mixed in your geography, Isabel. They have plantations and estates in the South, but the ranches are out West. But I don't wonder you prefer bumping along as you do on the old Senator. You match him all right, all right. But just you wait until we leave you behind when we've learned to ride like Peggy and Polly, for we're going to do it, you can just bet your best hat."

"Thank you, I never indulge in betting or slang. Both are vulgar in the extreme. And as to riding like a circus performer, I have higher aims in life."

"Going in for the trapeze? They say it's fine to reduce embonpoint."

No reply was made to Rosalie's gibe and the lesson went on in its usual uneventful manner. Meanwhile Peggy and Polly were having a glorious game of tag, for the Columbia Heights grounds were very extensive, and drives led in every direction. When pursued and pursuer were in a perfect gale of merriment, and Tzaritza giving way to her most joyous cavortings, a sudden turn brought them upon Mrs. Vincent. She was seated upon a rustic bench in one of the cosy nooks of the grounds and Tzaritza, bounding ahead, was the first to see her, and Tzaritza never forgot a kindness. The next second she had dropped upon the ground at Mrs. Vincent's feet, her nose buried in her forepaws—Tzaritza's way of manifesting her allegiance and affection. Then up she rose, rested her feet upon the bench and for the second time laid her head upon Mrs. Vincent's shoulder. Before that gratified lady had time to do more than place an arm about the big dog's neck, Peggy's and Polly's chargers had come to a halt in front of her and at word of command stood as still as statues. The girls slipped from the horses' backs, as bonny a pair as ever thrilled an older woman's soul.

"Oh, Mrs. Vincent, we've had such a race!" cried Polly, smiling into Mrs. Vincent's face with her irresistible smile.

"Isn't it good just to be alive on such a day?" smiled Peggy, turning to her as she would have turned to Mrs. Harold, her face alight. Aunt Katherine had been Peggy's only "wet blanket" and, it had not been wrapped about her long enough to destroy her absolute confidence in grown-ups. Perhaps Miss Sturgis would threaten it, but all that lay in the future.

"And to be just fifteen with all the world before you, and such animals beside you," answered Mrs. Vincent, stroking Tzaritza and nodding toward the horses.

"Yes, aren't they just the dearest ever? Who could help loving them?"

"Will they stand like that without being tied?"

"Oh, yes, they have always obeyed me perfectly. I wish you could see Roy and the others. Some day you must come out to Severndale, Mrs. Vincent, and see my four-footed children. I've such a lot of them."

"Tell me something of your home and home-life, dear. We are not very well acquainted, you know, and that is a poor beginning."

It was a subject dear to Peggy's heart, and she needed no urging. Seated beside Mrs. Vincent, for half an hour she talked of her life at Severndale, Polly's interjections supplying little side-lights which Mrs. Vincent was quick to appreciate, though Polly did not realize how they emphasized Peggy's picture of her home.

"And you really raised those splendid horses yourself? I have never seen their equal."

"But if you only knew how wonderfully intelligent they are, Mrs. Vincent! Of course, Silver Star is now Polly's horse, but she has learned to understand him so perfectly, and ride so beautifully, that he loves her as well as he loves me and obeys her as well."

For a moment or two Mrs. Vincent's face wore an odd expression.

"Understand" a horse? To be "loved" by one? Did she "understand" those in her stable? Did they "love" her? She almost smiled. It was such a new viewpoint. Yet, why not? The animals upon her place were certainly entirely dependent upon her for their happiness and comfort. But had she ever given that fact a serious thought?

Slipping an arm about each girl as they sat beside her she asked:

"What do you think of our horses, and of Dawson? For a little fifteen-year old lassie you seem to have had a remarkable experience."

Peggy colored, but Polly blurted out:

"I think he's a regular old hypocrite and so does Peggy. Why, Shelby would have forty fits if any of our horses' feet were like Jack-o'-Lantern's, or their bits as dirty as the Senator's."

"Oh, Polly, please don't!" begged Peggy. But it was too late. "What is this?" asked Mrs. Vincent quickly.

"Well, I dare say I've made a mess of the whole thing. I generally do, but Peggy and I do love animals so and hate to see them abused."

"Are ours abused, Polly?"

"I don't suppose that generally speaking people would say they were. Most everybody would say they were mighty well cared for, but that's because people don't stop to think a thing about it. My goodness, I didn't till Peggy made me. A horse was just a horse to me—any old horse—if he could pull a wagon or hold somebody on his back. That he could actually talk to me never entered my head. Have you ever seen one do it?" asked Polly, full of eager enthusiasm.

"I can't say that I ever have," smiled Mrs. Vincent, and Polly quickly retorted, though there was no trace of disrespect in her words:

"Now you are laughing at us. I knew you would. Well, no wonder, most people would think us crazy for saying such a thing. But truly, Mrs. Vincent, we're not. Peggy, make Shashai and Star talk to you. I'd do it, only I'd sort of feel as though I were taking the wind out of your sails. You are the teacher and I'm only your pupil."

"Do you really wish me to show you something of their intelligence, Mrs. Vincent? I feel sort of foolish—as though I were trying to show off, you know."

"Well, you are not, and I've an idea that for a few moments we can exchange places to good advantage. It looks as though I had spent a vast deal of my time acquiring a knowledge of higher mathematics and modern languages, at the expense of some understanding of natural history and now I'll take a lesson, please."

"Of course I don't mean to say that every animal can be taught all the things our horses have learned any more than all children, can be equally taught. You don't expect as much of the child who has been, misused and neglected as you do of the one who has been raised properly and always loved. It depends a whole lot on that. Our horses have never known fear and so we can do almost anything with them. Shashai, Star, come and make love to Missie."

As one the two beautiful creatures came to the seat and laid their soft muzzles upon Peggy's shoulders. Then raising their heads ran their velvety lips over her cheeks with as gentle, caressing a touch as a little child's fingers could have given, all the time voicing the soft, bubbling whinney of a trustful, happy horse. Peggy reached an arm about each satiny head. After a moment she said:

"Attention!"

Back started both horses to stand as rigid as statues.

"Salute Mrs. Vincent."

Up went each splendid head and a clear, joyous neigh was trumpeted from the delicate nostrils.

"Call Shelby!"

What an alert expression filled the splendid eyes as the horses, actually a-quiver with excitement, neighed again, and again for the friend whom they loved, and looked inquiringly at Peggy when he failed to appear.

"Where's Jess?"

Eager, impatient snorts replied.

Peggy rose to her feet and carefully knotting, the reins upon the saddles' pommels to safeguard accidents, said:

"Go fetch him!"

Tzaritza was alert in an instant. "No, not you, Tzaritza. Charge. Four bells, Shashai,—Star!" and away swept the horses.

"Do you mean to say they understand and will really bring Jess here?" asked Mrs. Vincent incredulously.

"Oh, yes, indeed. They have done so dozens of times at home."

"Well, they are wonders!"

The rapid hoofbeats were now dying away in the distance. Perhaps ten minutes elapsed when their rhythmic beat was again audible, each second growing more distinct, then down the linden-bordered avenue came Shashai and Star, Jess riding Shashai. The horses moved as swiftly as birds fly. As they caught sight of Peggy they neighed loudly as though asking her approbation. A lump of sugar awaited each obedient animal, and Jess asked:

"What yo' wantin' ob Jess, baby-honey?"

"Just to prove to Mrs. Vincent that the horses would bring you here if I told them to."

"Co'se dey bring me if Miss Peggy bidden 'em to," answered Jess as though surprised that she should ask such a needless question.

"But how did you know she wished you?"

"How'd I know, Mist'ss? Why dem hawses done tol' me she want me. Yas'm dey did. Dey done come t'arin' back yonder ter de stable an' dey cotch holt ob my sleefs wid dey teefs, and dey yank and tug me 'long outen de do'. Den dis hyer Shashai, he stan' lak a statyer twell I hike me up on his back, den he kite away like de bery debbil—axes yo' pardon, ma'am!—an' hyer we-all is. Dat's all de how dar is ob it. Dey knows what folks 'specs ob 'em. Dey's eddicated hawses. Dey's been raised right."

"I think they have been. Peggy, I want to walk back to the stables with you and Polly. I'd like to see with my own eyes some of the things you have spoken about."

"O Mrs. Vincent, I am so afraid it will make a whole lot of trouble! Dawson knows I criticised him—indeed, I lost my temper and said he couldn't 'hold down a job' at Severndale. Excuse the slang, please, but he rubbed me the wrong way with all his fuss, when he really doesn't know, or doesn't want to know—I don't know which—one thing about horses."

Mrs. Vincent paused a moment. "Perhaps you are right," she said. "At all events, your sense of justice seems to be one of your strong points. Go back to the house and let Jess take your 'children' to the stables. A little diplomacy can do no harm. And Jess, you need not mention seeing me with the young ladies. Your little mistress has begun my horse education. I haven't been very wise about them, I fear, but now I am going to make amends."

"Yas'm. Amens does help we-all a powerful lot when we's wrastlin' wid we-all's sperrits. I hopes dey fotch yo' froo yo' doubtin's. I'se done had ter say many an amen in ma day."

Jess' face was full of solicitude. He had not the remotest idea of the source of Mrs. Vincent's turmoil of spirit, but if she found it necessary to say "amen," Jess instantly concluded that his sympathies were demanded. At all events he was now a part of Columbia Heights and all within it's precincts came within his kindly solicitude. Tradition was strong in old Jessekiah. Mrs. Vincent had much ado to keep her countenance. She had come to Washington from a Western city and had but slight understanding of the real devotion of the old-time negro to his "white folks." Alas! few of the old-time ones are left. It was with a sense of still having considerable to learn that she parted from the girls and Jess and made her way toward the stables, reaching there some time after Jess had unsaddled his horses and was performing their toilets with as much care as a French maid would bestow upon her mistress, though no French maid would ever have kept up the incessant flow of affectionate talk to the object of her attentions that Jess was maintaining. He took no notice of Mrs. Vincent, but she did not miss one shadow or shade of the absolute understanding existing between Jess and his "babies," as he called them.

"Dar now, honeys," he said, as he carefully blanketed them. "Run 'long back yander to yo' boxes. Yo' dinner's all a-ready an' a-waitin', lak de hymn chune say, an' yo's ready fo' it. Dem children ain' never gwine send yo' back to de stable, so het up, yo' cyant eat er drink fo' an hour. No siree! Not dem."

At that moment Dawson and his assistant appeared with the horses the girls had ridden. Notwithstanding the cool crispness of the morning, Lady Belle was in a lather where her harness rested. The Senator was blowing like a grampus; Jack-o'-Lantern's bit was foam-flecked and Natalie's pretty little "Madam Goldie" looked fagged.

Mrs. Vincent instantly contrasted the condition of Shashai and Star with the others. Yet Peggy and Polly had been riding like Valkyrie.

As Dawson espied the lady of the manor his face underwent a change which would have been amusing had it not been entirely too significant. Mrs. Vincent made no comments whatever concerning the horses but a veil had certainly fallen from her eyes. She asked Dawson how his young ladies were coming on with their riding lessons, how many had arranged to ride in the park that afternoon, and one or two trivial questions. Then she returned to the house a much wiser woman than she had left it an hour earlier.