When I was a little fellow, we used to study every day, and only on Sundays and holidays went out and played with our brothers. Once my father said:
“The children must learn to ride. Send them to the riding-school!”
I was the youngest of the brothers, and I asked:
“May I, too, learn to ride?”
My father said:
“You will fall down.”
I began to beg him to let me learn, and almost cried. My father said:
“All right, you may go, too. Only look out! Don’t cry when you fall off. He who does not once fall down from a horse will not learn to ride.”
When Wednesday came, all three of us were taken to the riding-school. We entered by a large porch, and from the large porch went to a smaller one. Beyond the porch was a very large room: instead of a floor it had sand. And in this room were gentlemen and ladies and just such boys as we. That was the riding-school. The riding-school was not very light, and there was a smell of horses, and you could hear them snap whips and call to the horses, and the horses strike their hoofs against the wooden walls. At first I was frightened and could not see things well. Then our valet called the riding-master, and said:
“Give these boys some horses: they are going to learn how to ride.”
The master said: