Then Betty told the melancholy story of old Whitey's lameness. Fortunately, Sally Carteret, knowing that old Whitey had to be saved for the hunt, had invited Betty to go with her to the party that evening at Red Plains, which was close by.
"Do you mean," asked Fortescue, "that you are to miss the hunt?"
"I am afraid so," said poor Betty dolefully.
"But that isn't to be thought of," cried Fortescue. "I have several horses at Rosehill, and I can give you a mount. Birdseye, that I rode over here, is the gentlest and kindest horse that ever stepped. Although not a regular hunter, she can get along the road and over the fences all right."
"Oh!" exclaimed Betty, jumping up, "do let me see her! Granddaddy, may I ride Birdseye to-morrow morning?"
"I should require, my love," he said, "to see Birdseye. Perhaps she has never had a side-saddle on her, or known what a riding-skirt is."
Betty ran out into the little hall, and, picking up a red scarf, threw it over her head, calling back to the Colonel:
"Don't you dare, Granddaddy, to come out on the porch. You can see from the window."
Fortescue was not a foot behind Betty, and they both ran to where Birdseye, dancing to keep herself warm, stood under a great holly tree. From the kitchen window peeped a little round, black face.
"We can try Birdseye with that little black boy," said Fortescue. "She wouldn't hurt a baby."
Betty beckoned to Kettle, who came out willingly enough, his constitutional grin over-spreading his face.
"Run to the stable and get a horse-blanket," said Betty, which Kettle proceeded to do, and returned in a couple of minutes.
But Kettle's face suddenly changed when Fortescue, catching him by the shoulder, wrapped the horse-blanket around him as if it were a skirt, and Betty supplied a couple of hair-pins with which to fasten it. Then Fortescue, flinging the boy on Birdseye's back, put the reins in his hand, saying:
"Now, you little scamp, gallop around the lawn."
Kettle, his scared eyes nearly bouncing out of his little black face, his grin wholly disappeared, was quite incapable of taking a gallop around the lawn of his own initiative. He clung desperately to the reins, and began to stutter.
"G-g-g-g-ood Gord A'mighty, Miss Betty! I's jes' skeered to death of this heah hoss!"