“What do you want to do?”
“Papa used to say one should never apologize to an inferior. And Jim is a peasant, is he not?”
“We don’t speak of peasants in England anymore,” Gabe told him. “But Jim is probably a poor fisherman’s son.”
“So Papa would say I should not apologize.” The boy sighed. “But Mama says if I do the wrong thing, I should always apologize, no matter who the person is. But then Mama is a lady and ladies are different.”
“They are indeed,” Gabe agreed.
“Of course I alwaysobeyedPapa, but sometimes it did notfeelgood, here.” He touched his chest.
“I see,” Gabe said. “This matter has nothing to do with Mama or Papa, has it? So what doyouthink you should do?”
Nicky thought for a while. “I feel bad that I hit Jim and broke his nose, and that I did not fight him as a gentleman should.”
Gabe nodded.
“I would like to talk to Jim again. He may be a peas—a poor fisher boy, but he is an interesting boy.” Nicky gave Gabe an upward glance. “I don’t want him to stay angry with me.”
“So you would apologize so you can be friends?”
Nicky thought about that. “No, I will apologize because I did the wrong thing,” he decided.
“And if you didn’t like him? Would you still apologize?”
He considered the question. “IthinkI would still apologize but it would not be easy, for if he was my enemy, he would feel superior.”
Gabe nodded. “Which is more important, what an enemy thinks of you, or what you think of yourself?”
“That is a good question,” Nicky said thoughtfully. “My enemy’s opinion is nothing to me. You are right, sir.”
They rode on for a little. “Sir, this has been a very good conversation. Thank you,” the small boy said solemnly.
Gabe ruffled his hair. “I’ve enjoyed it, too. You’re a good lad, Nicky. No wonder your mother is proud of you. Now, shall we ride a little faster?”
“Yes, and gallop like the wind, please,” said Nicky firmly.
They galloped like the wind, Nicky clutching Gabe’s forearms, and urging Gabe to go faster, faster,faster!
Finally Gabe judged that Trojan had had enough, and slowed to a canter.
“That was splendid!” Nicky exclaimed. “I never understood before that riding could be like flying!” The boy held himself much more loosely now, responding to the movement of the horse instinctively. With a proper saddle, and a few adaptations for his weak leg, Gabe was sure the boy could ride.
“It is indeed. You said your father was an excellent rider.”
“Yes, the finest rider in all of Z—my country.”
Gabe drew a bow at random. “And he died in a riding accident. Was it jumping a fence?”
“No, he was shot. They said it was an accident, but it wasn’t true, though.”
So hewasdead, Gabe thought. “Wasn’t it?”
“No. They were after him and they got him. Now they’re after me,” the boy said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“I see. And how long ago was this?”
Nicky thought for a moment. “More than a year. Papa was killed a month before my birthday. I wasn’t even seven, then.”
