"Why, Freddie! what in the world were you trying to do?" asked his
father, when the little boy was placed in his arms.


"I--I just wanted a ride," Freddie explained. "I got tired of ridin' on
wooden lions. I wanted a live horse."

"Well, he picked a lively one all right!" laughed a man in the crowd.
"That horse he rode has won every race, so far."

"You must never do such a thing again, Freddie," his father told him,
when the excitement had died down and the racing was once more started.
"Never again."

"No, I won't," Freddie promised. "But when I grow up I'm goin' to ride
horses, I am!"

"That will be a good while yet," laughed Bert.

"I'm glad your mother wasn't here," said Mr. Bobbsey. "She would have
almost fainted, I'm sure, if she had seen you out on the race track like
a regular jockey."

"Did I look like a jockey?" Freddie asked, eagerly.

"Well, not exactly," Bert said. "You didn't have any silk blouse on."

"I'll get Dinah to make me one when I go home," Freddie declared. "I'll
have a red one, I guess, and then if I get tired of ridin' horses I can