From beneath the coat fell away in long graceful lines a black riding skirt; a dark oval face, set with large wondrous gray eyes--the Porter eyes--confronted the quaint little old lady.
“That's the Porter gal,” her neighbor squeaked; “I've seen her a-top them race horses more'n a hundred times. My! you'd think butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, she's that prim now.”
“The coat would melt it,” commented the quaint one.
Then a clear, soft girlish voice, with just a tremble of apprehensive nervousness, giving it a lilt like a robin's, said:--
Full weight they had given the gallant big Black--a hundred and sixty he carried; And the run for the “Hunt Cup” was over three miles, with mud-wall and water-jump studded. The best racing days of the old horse were past--there'd never been better nor braver But now once again he must carry the silk I was needing the help of Crusader. Could he win at the weight, I whisperingly asked, as I cinched up the saddle girt' tight; He snuggled my hand as I gathered the rein, and I laughed when they talked of defeat. To the call of the bugle I swung to his back--like a rock was the strength of his quarters. At sight of the people he arched his lean neck, and they, cheered for my King of all Hunters.
Ten horses would strive for the prize--a big field, and the pace would be killing. From the West came Sweet Silver, a gray, gallant, and fearless in jumping. A rakish old nag who walked over the sticks, had been sent for the Cup from Kentucky; On a bay, Little Jack, who was fast, they had put but a hundred and thirty. But I knew that North Star, a big brown--even the Black was no gamer- With a pull of ten pounds in the weight, was almost a match for Crusader. We made a brave troop, long-striding and strong, with the pick of cross-country riders, As we filed past the Stand in stately parade, with its thousands of eager admirers, And down to the turn on the lower far side, where a red flag was flicking the sunlight; For twice we must circle the green-swarded field, and finish close under the paddock.
Just once we lined up; then down cut the flag, and “Go!” hoarse-voiced the Starter; And the thunder of hoofs, and the clanking of bits, made music to me on Crusader. Quick to the front, like a deer, sped a mare, a chestnut, making the running; But I steadied my mount, and took him far back--with his weight he would need all my nursing. They took the first hedge like sheep in a bunch, bit to bit, and stirrups a-jingle; And so past the Stand to the broad water-jump, where three went down, in a tangle. I trailed at the heels of the Silver Gray--but Crusader was begging for halter And flew the wide ditch with the swoop of a bird, and on again, lapped on his quarter. Then over the Liverpool, racing like mad,--where Sweet Silver fell fighting for lead, And his rider lay crushed, white-faced to the sky; and to miss him Crusader jumped wide.