for very love of it.

That afternoon when Alfred lifted Madeline to the back of the big
roan she felt high in the air.

"We'll have a run out to the mesa," said her brother, as he
mounted. "Keep a tight rein on him and ease up when you want him
to go faster. But don't yell in his ear unless you want Florence
and me to see you disappear on the horizon."

He trotted out of the yard, down by the corrals, to come out on
the edge of a gray, open flat that stretched several miles to the
slope of a mesa. Florence led, and Madeline saw that she rode
like a cowboy. Alfred drew on to her side, leaving Madeline in
the rear. Then the leading horses broke into a gallop. They
wanted to run, and Madeline felt with a thrill that she would
hardly be able to keep Majesty from running, even if she wanted
to. He sawed on the tight bridle as the others drew away and
broke from pace to gallop. Then Florence put her horse into a
run. Alfred turned and called to Madeline to come along.

"This will never do. They are running away from us," said
Madeline, and she eased up her hold on the bridle. Something
happened beneath her just then; she did not know at first exactly
what. As much as she had been on horseback she had never ridden
at a running gait. In New York it was not decorous or safe. So
when Majesty lowered and stretched and changed the stiff, jolting
gallop for a wonderful, smooth, gliding run it required Madeline
some moments to realize what was happening. It did not take long
for her to see the distance diminishing between her and her