Page 182 (1/2)

Oho! for the rush of wind in the hair, for the rolling thunder of

galloping hoofs, now echoing on the hard, white road, now rass

Oho! for the horse and his rider and the glory of the of distance, for the tireless

spring of the powerful loins, for the entle as a caress, for the firm seat--the balance and

sway that is an aid to speed, and proves the born rider And what

horse should this be but Four-legs, his black coat glossy and

shining in the sun, his great, round hoofs spurning the flying earth,

all a-quiver with high courage, with life and the joy of it? And who

should be the rider but young Barnabas?

He rides with his hat in his whip-hand, that he may feel the wind,

and with never a look behind, for birds are carolling froe and tree the young

sun has set a reen distance ahead, Love is calling; brooks babble of it, birds

sing of it, the very leaves find each a small, soft voice to whisper

of it

So away--away rides Barnabas by village green and lonely cot, past

hedge and gate and barn, up hill and down hill,--away from the dirt

and noise of London, away from its joys and sorrows, its splendors

and itsshadow Spur and

gallop, Barnabas,--ride, youth, ride! for the shadow has already

touched you, even as the madman said