"You'll not," said his mother.

I had heard nothing of this. The next morning he led out his pony from
the stables for me to ride, and insisted. And, supposing he was to go in
the coach, I put foot in the stirrup. The little beast would scarce
stand still for me to mount.

"You'll not need the whip with her," said Nick, and led her around by the
side of the house, in view of the portico, and stood there at her bridle.
Presently, with a great noise and clatter of hoofs, the coach rounded the
drive, the powdered negro coachman pulling up the four horses with much
ceremony at the door. It was a wondrous great vehicle, the bright colors
of its body flashing in the morning light. I had examined it more than
once, and with awe, in the coach-house. It had glass windows and a lion
on a blue shield on the door, and within it was all salmon silk, save the
painted design on the ceiling. Great leather straps held up this house
on wheels, to take the jolts of the road. And behind it was a platform.
That morning two young negroes with flowing blue coats stood on it. They
leaped to the ground when the coach stopped, and stood each side of the
door, waiting for my lady to enter.

She came down the steps, laughing, with Mr. Riddle, who was in his riding
clothes, for he was to race that day. He handed her in, and got in after
her. The coachman cracked his whip, the coach creaked off down the
drive, I in the trees one side waiting for them to pass, and wondering
what Nick was to do. He had let go my bridle, folded his whip in his
hand, and with a shout of "Come on, Davy," he ran for the coach, which
was going slowly, caught hold of the footman's platform, and pulled
himself up.