"Tell me again how you learned to ride a horse," I would ask my father when I was a little girl in Denmark. I was no more than four years old--too little to learn to ride a horse by myself. But I liked to hear my father tell his story. And then he would begin. "When I was a little boy, as little as you are now," he would say, "I wanted to ride the horses. But I was too small to mount a horse. So I would slip into my father's stables to be with the horses and admire them. Such big, powerful animals they were! "The gentle workhorses stood quietly in their stalls, eating their hay. I would climb up the side of one of the stalls and slide over onto the horse's back. "Then I would hold its mane and imagine us running quickly over the grasslands, down to the shore, and even into the sea. "When I grew tall enough to mount a horse," he said, "my wish came true." "You swim with the horses now," I said. "You even swim with Fiery. And he has spirit!" Everybody knew about Fiery, the great black male horse with the fierce temper, and how he behaved when he first came to the stables. He raised itself on its back legs with the front legs in the air. He snorted and kicked. He rolled his eyes. And everyone was afraid of him. Everyone, except my father. I wanted to hear more. "Now tell me how you made Fiery your friend," I begged. This was my favorite story. "Well, little Else," my father went on, "I just talked to him. I talked as a friend. You must talk to a horse like Fiery. "I'd say, 'No, little horse. No, my friend. You can't run free. You must learn to let me ride you.' "And soon Fiery began to listen. He knew from my voice that I would be his friend." So Fiery let my father teach him to carry a rider. Then Fiery would take my father across the soft green grasslands or even into the lively waters of the northern sea. I loved to see Father riding Fiery without a saddle  into the sea. There they swam, Father and Fiery, out in the cold, clear water. Often I would watch them from the shore, holding tight to my mother's hand. They swam so bravely. I was so proud of them! Then Father and Fiery would come splashing out of the water and run along the shore toward us. They made a fine stop--just in time! Fiery towered over us. He tossed his head and shook sea water from his shining black coat. Father was laughing and patting Fiery's neck. And I was making a wish. I wished that someday I could have a horse, too . . . but a smaller one! Where does Else most like to watch her father ride Fiery?
At the seashore. On the farm. In the grasslands. In the stables.
Question: "Tell me again how you learned to ride a horse," I would ask my father when I was a little girl in Denmark. I was no more than four years old--too little to learn to ride a horse by myself. But I liked to hear my father tell his story. And then he would begin. "When I was a little boy, as little as you are now," he would say, "I wanted to ride the horses. But I was too small to mount a horse. So I would slip into my father's stables to be with the horses and admire them. Such big, powerful animals they were! "The gentle workhorses stood quietly in their stalls, eating their hay. I would climb up the side of one of the stalls and slide over onto the horse's back. "Then I would hold its mane and imagine us running quickly over the grasslands, down to the shore, and even into the sea. "When I grew tall enough to mount a horse," he said, "my wish came true." "You swim with the horses now," I said. "You even swim with Fiery. And he has spirit!" Everybody knew about Fiery, the great black male horse with the fierce temper, and how he behaved when he first came to the stables. He raised itself on its back legs with the front legs in the air. He snorted and kicked. He rolled his eyes. And everyone was afraid of him. Everyone, except my father. I wanted to hear more. "Now tell me how you made Fiery your friend," I begged. This was my favorite story. "Well, little Else," my father went on, "I just talked to him. I talked as a friend. You must talk to a horse like Fiery. "I'd say, 'No, little horse. No, my friend. You can't run free. You must learn to let me ride you.' "And soon Fiery began to listen. He knew from my voice that I would be his friend." So Fiery let my father teach him to carry a rider. Then Fiery would take my father across the soft green grasslands or even into the lively waters of the northern sea. I loved to see Father riding Fiery without a saddle  into the sea. There they swam, Father and Fiery, out in the cold, clear water. Often I would watch them from the shore, holding tight to my mother's hand. They swam so bravely. I was so proud of them! Then Father and Fiery would come splashing out of the water and run along the shore toward us. They made a fine stop--just in time! Fiery towered over us. He tossed his head and shook sea water from his shining black coat. Father was laughing and patting Fiery's neck. And I was making a wish. I wished that someday I could have a horse, too . . . but a smaller one! Where does Else most like to watch her father ride Fiery?
A. At the seashore.
B. On the farm.
C. In the grasslands.
D. In the stables.
Answer: