Marco was quite pleased at this unexpected result, and after ten or
fifteen minutes, they came to the level piece of road, and the driver
put the reins into Marco's hand. Marco had sometimes driven two
horses, when riding out with his father in a barouche, up the
Bloomingdale road in New York. He was therefore not entirely
unaccustomed to the handling of reins; and he took them from the
driver's hand and imitated the manner of holding them which he had
observed the driver himself to adopt, quite dexterously.

The horses, in fact, needed very little guidance. They went along the
road very quietly of their own accord. Marco kept wishing that a
wagon or something else would come along, that he might have the
satisfaction of turning out. But nothing of the kind appeared, and he
was obliged to content himself with turning a little to one side,
to avoid a stone. At the end of the level piece of road there was a
tavern, where they were going to stop to change the horses, and Marco
asked the driver to let him turn the horses up to the door. The driver
consented, keeping a close watch all the time, ready to seize the
reins again at a moment's notice, if there had been any appearance of
difficulty. But there was none. Marco guided the horses right, and
drawing in the reins with all his strength, he brought them up
properly at the door; or rather, he seemed to do it,--for, in
reality, the horses probably acted as much of their own accord, being
accustomed to stop at this place, as from any control which Marco
exercised over them through the reins.

There was, however, an advantage in this evolution, for Marco became
accustomed to the feeling of the reins in his hand, and acquired a
sort of confidence in his power over the horses,--greater to be sure
than there was any just ground for, but which was turned to a very