about the matter would acknowledge both its necessity and its beauty.
Then Thorny would observe that it might be all very well in the saddle,
but it made a man waddle like a duck when afoot; whereat Ben would
retort that for his part he would rather waddle like a duck than tumble
about like a horse with the staggers. He had his opponent there, for
poor Thorny did look very like a weak-kneed colt when he tried to walk;
but he would never own it, and came down upon Ben with crushing
allusions to centaurs, or the Greeks and Romans, who were famous both
for their horsemanship and fine limbs. Ben could not answer that,
except by proudly referring to the chariot-races copied from the
ancients in which _he_ had borne a part, which was more than _some
folks_ with long legs could say. Gentlemen never did that sort of
thing, nor did they twit their best friends with their misfortunes,
Thorny would remark, casting a pensive glance at his thin hands,
longing the while to give Ben a good shaking. This hint would remind
the other of his young master's late sufferings and all he owed his
dear mistress, and he usually ended the controversy by turning a few
lively somersaults as a vent for his swelling wrath, and come up with
his temper all right again. Or, if Thorny happened to be in the wheeled
chair, he would trot him round the garden at a pace which nearly took
his breath away, thereby proving that if "bow-legs" were not beautiful
to some benighted being, they _were_ "good to go."

Thorny liked that, and would drop the subject for the time by politely
introducing some more agreeable topic; so the impending quarrel would
end in a laugh over some boyish joke, and the word "legs" be avoided by
mutual consent till accident brought it up again.

The spirit of rivalry is hidden in the best of us, and is a helpful and
inspiring power if we know how to use it. Miss Celia knew this, and