on! I merely say: "Hunt, I want a horse and an orderly at 8 a.m.
to-morrow."

It's useless for me to say I'd like Swallow or Tank or Jezebel, because,
if I name one in particular, there's always some reason why it would be
better not to ride that one that day. Oh, "she wants shoeing behind,"
or, "she had one of her moods this morning, and so I exercised her very
early," or "he didn't eat his corn, and had better stay in." So I just
meekly ask for a horse. And a horse arrives.

Swallow is still rather lame, but seems better now. And the gentle
influence of Tank is, I really believe, soothing Jezebel. Tank is a very
charming creature, and her perfect manners are a good example to the
other two. But--what an awful admission!--she is so good that I own I
find her rather dull. Poor little Tank!

Jorrocks has gone off to a nasty place, I fear, with his troop. But all
seems fairly quiet at present.


_December 12._

The trek is at an end.

We have arrived at a place well behind the line, and not at all
wrecked, except for holes here and there. But the river! Oh my aunt!
It's marvellous. It winds in and out of low hills, and as I saw it this
evening, from an eminence, it looked more snaky than ever. Huge great
loops with the lovely pale sedges on either side. The almost yellow
hills are dotted with junipers. I long to see it to-morrow morning.