The secret of the Mansion

Bobby. I’ll let him play in the wading pool until you come back."
    "Thanks," Trixie said, staring entranced at the big horse. She sucked in a deep breath of the air that was fragrant with the smell of clean horses and hay and saddle soap. She moved closer and patted the gelding’s satiny neck. "Oh, you beautiful, beautiful thing," she crooned as Jupiter nuzzled her pocket, hinting for a lump of sugar. "I haven’t anything for you today, darling, but tomorrow I’ll bring you apples and carrots. Just you wait and see."
    "You speak a horse’s language, miss," Regan said approvingly. "Jupe understood every word you said. He likes you and he doesn’t like everybody."
    "I love him," Trixie cried. "Please, Mr. Regan, could I ride him today?"
    "Well, now," Regan said slowly, "that depends. He’s not easy to handle, Jupiter isn’t. Mr. Wheeler rides him mostly, and he’s got a very heavy touch. Honey, now, she can’t hold Jupiter in. Just hasn’t enough strength in her wrists. But you look like a husky youngster. Done much riding?"
    Reluctantly, Trixie shook her head. "I’ve never even been on a horse," she admitted ruefully. "But I know I can ride him, Mr. Regan. I know I can." Regan guffawed loudly. "Never even been on a horse! Why, miss, you wouldn’t have a chance in the world with Jupe. He’d know right off that you were a beginner, and would he take you for a ride!" He slapped Jupiter’s neck affectionately. "He wouldn’t stop until you hit the New York traffic; that is, if you stayed on that long."
    Trixie swallowed hard to keep from showing her disappointment. "But when I learn to ride, you’ll let me try him, won’t you, Mr. Regan?" she begged meekly. "Please!"
    "That I will,’’ Regan promised. "But, right now, I think you’d better start with Lady. She’s real gentle and easy to handle. Mrs. Wheeler’s mare, she is. Come on, you can help me saddle her."
    Trixie followed him inside the stable, and a lovely dapple-gray mare whinnied from her stall. "That’s the sweet girl," Regan crooned as he slipped a halter over Lady’s head and led her out. "Here, miss," he said to Trixie, "you hold her a minute," and he disappeared into the tack room.
    The horsey smell of leather and soap and hay was stronger in here, and Trixie inhaled a deep breath of it as she waited for Regan. "You’re a darling girl," she whispered to the dainty little mare, "and I wish you belonged to me." When Regan came back, she said, "Please don’t call me miss, Mr. Regan. My name’s Trixie."
    Regan deftly slid the halter over Lady’s head and slipped a snaffle bit into her mouth. "Okay, Trixie," he said as he showed her how to gather up the reins. "Just call me Regan." He gently placed a saddle on Lady’s back and bent over to buckle the girth in place. "I’ll have to tighten the cinch a bit after you get on," he told Trixie. "Lady has the habit of blowing herself up while she’s being saddled." He grinned. "It’s a smart trick, and you have to watch out for it with a lot of horses. Wouldn’t want the saddle to slip off, would you?"
    Trixie solemnly shook her head. Regan led Lady out into the yard and pulled down the stirrups.
    Measuring the length of Trixie’s leg with his eye, he adjusted the leather straps accordingly. He held one stirrup iron for her. "Up you go," he ordered.
    Trixie promptly discovered that mounting a horse was not as easy as she had thought it would be; but after two unsuccessful tries she found herself, breathless and excited, in the saddle. She was on a horse at last!
    "Heels down!" Regan commanded. "And keep ’em down, with the irons under the balls of your feet." He led Lady into a partially fenced-in field. "If you don’t keep your heels down, you’ll never learn how to post a trot or keep your seat in a gallop. What’s more, if you get thrown and the horse runs away, you’re not likely to have your foot caught in a stirrup if your heels are down instead of your toes. Getting dragged isn’t fun," he finished soberly. "Just remember that!"
    "I will," Trixie promised, so thrilled that her whole body trembled. "May I gallop her now, Regan; please, may I?"
    Indeed you can’t," Regan said briskly. "You start with a walk. Just lift the reins a little, and she’ll move right out."
    Honey appeared, then, in an immaculate white riding habit and russet boots so shiny you could see your face in them. "Come here, Honey," Regan said.
    Lead your friend around the corral a couple of times while