266 Next to the Ground 



at White Oaks sometimes jumped out in pure 

 tricksy wantonness, ran maybe ten miles, in 

 a circuit of the plantation, then jumped in 

 again, exactly where they jumped out. They 

 had all even an unreasonable beast could wish, 

 sweet grass, fair water, shade in plenty, salt 

 at will. They had also room and to spare 

 for racing on their own account. There were 

 above a hundred acres in native blue grass, 

 cut in two with a stone wall, and snipped at 

 the ends of the big fields, by snug, stoutly 

 fenced paddocks. The summer pasture lay 

 upland. When rain was imminent it saw 

 some fine and true-run races. Whip-Lash, 

 Major Baker's own saddle mare, was queen 

 of the herd. She gave the racing signal. 

 First she snorted very loud, then, when every 

 head was raised, and every eye upon her, 

 neighed, long and low, put her head down, 

 and began to run against the wind. As the 

 others got in motion, she wheeled, and ran 

 down wind, as hard as she could leg it. The 

 others lagged a bit until she came to the turn, 

 waiting to see if she meant to break out, or 

 race at home. If she swept on inside the 

 fence, they streamed after her at their very 

 best speed. For a round she held everything 

 safe — then something younger forged ahead. 

 Sometimes it was Pipe-Stem, sometitnes Light- 

 Foot, sometimes the chestnut Sir Galahad, but 



