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"That's my Merrylegs," she said, "an' he's the best pony that ever went into a ring! I bet your old Tinker can't beat him!"

"Yes, he can, then," was Hugh's sturdy answer. "Tinker wasn't trained like him, of course; he was just a working pony. But he's every bit as good!"

Nita's eyes flashed storm-signals again. But she restrained herself; possibly because she was in full view of the blue caravan.

"Ff!" she said, scornfully. "We know better, don't we, Merry, old chap?" She feit in the pocket of her jersey for a lump of sugar; the pony's soft muzzle caressed her palm as he took it.

"Do you ride him in the Circus?"

"Why, of course I do! That's my job. I'm 'Little Carmenita, the World's Best Juvenile Bareback Equestrienne!' " She rolled out the long words with a slow relish. 'Til show you on one of the posters, if you don't believe me."

"Oh, I believe you all right," Hugh hastened to assure her. He was somewhat awed by such glory. "What do you do?"

"I ride in, an' gallop round, an' jump off an' on, an' stand on him, an' jump through hoops, an' go over jumps, an' make him put his fore-feet up on tubs, an' kneel down with me on him—oh, lots of tricks. Daddy's always teaching him new ones. I could do lots of things the men do," she boasted, "only Daddy won't let me—yet. But I bet I will. Mummy used to be a