"There, your worship," said the Gypsy; "there is the best pony in
all Spain."
"What do you mean by showing me this wretched creature?" said I.
"This wretched creature," said the Gypsy, "is a better horse than
your Andalou!"
"Perhaps you would not exchange," said I, smiling.
"Senor, what I say is, that he shall run with your Andalou, and
beat him!"
"He looks feeble," said I; "his work is well nigh done."
"Feeble as he is, Senor, you could not manage him; no, nor any
Englishman in Spain."
I looked at the creature again, and was still more struck with its
figure. I was in need of a pony to relieve occasionally the horse
of Antonio in carrying the baggage which we had brought from
Madrid, and though the condition of this was wretched, I thought
that by kind treatment I might possibly soon bring him round.
"May I mount this animal?" I demanded.
"He is a baggage pony, Senor, and is ill to mount. He will suffer
none but myself to mount him, who am his master. When he once
commences running, nothing will stop him but the sea. He springs
over hills and mountains, and leaves them behind in a moment.
