bow, the Joven dexterously guiding him through the entrance to the
corral, partly with the thong of raw hide, in part with light strokes
of the _revenque_ on the side of the head, and they disappeared
in a dense cloud of dust over the limitless "camp." A quarter of an
hour later they reappeared, the horse cantering quietly, and the boy,
still grinning like a Cheshire cat, sitting quite loosely, with his
legs dangling, as though he were in an arm-chair. The Joven slid to
the ground, and commenced talking to the horse in Spanish, as he
stroked his head. "_Pingo! Pingo!_" he cried, as he stroked him,
the word _Pingo_ being supposed in the Argentine, for some
unknown reason, to exercise a magically soothing influence over a
horse, and then, removing the raw-hide thong from the youngster's
mouth, he unsaddled him and turned him loose with a resounding smack
on his quarters, leaving him to meditate on the awful things that may
befall a young horse when he attempts to misbehave. The light-hearted
Joven, dripping with perspiration, wiped the sweat from his eyes, and,
with unabated cheerfulness, took stock of the second animal he was to
school, for he was to give three lessons that morning. When they were
over, the youth's own mother would not have known him, so caked with
dust and perspiration was he. He made his way to the swimming-bath,
still cheerful and smiling, determined not to miss the midday meal by
one second, for, like all the heroines of Mr. E. F. Benson's novels,
the eighteen-year-old Joven was afflicted with a perpetual voracious
hunger. When I complimented him at dinner on his very skilful
performance, the Joven, being in a loquacious mood, said, after a
pause for thought, "Oh, yes," beamed with friendliness, and promptly
devoured another plateful of beef. I asked him whether he never
regretted the quiet of his father's Cornish farm, in view of the
strenuous exertions his duties as rough-rider at Espartillar imposed
on him. The Joven knocked out his pipe, lit another, thought for five