“No, it’s a good mile off, and I don’t fancy sitting here; and besides, I don’t want to frighten them.” He was talking to this bare headed imp as if she were a grown-up woman. “If I could get on the horse--I know there’s a lane hereabouts--I’d manage all right.” He made a violent effort and rose to his feet, but quickly collapsed again. “I can’t walk, that’s sure”; and he looked over at the brown colt. “Shall I catch him for your honour?” “You!” he repeated sarcastically. “What a chance you’d have!” “Yes, faix, and I would,” she rejoined stoutly. “Are you not afraid?” “Is it me! I’m afraid of no horse or man, or any sort of beast whatever. Wasn’t it _me_, that bested Colgan’s old savage sow! I’m not used to horses--but I’m fine and handy with cows.” “All right then, go and try your luck.” And as young Doran sat on the ground endeavouring to stanch the blood which trickled into his eyes, he was amazed and amused at the manœuvres of the child in the blue pinafore. First she walked boldly forward, then she stood as if meaning nothing at all; next she stalked warily; finally she pounced almost imperceptibly on the reins, and before the big sixteen-hander could jerk back his head and snatch them and his liberty, she had him by the bit. Her very boldness and audacity astonished her captive as much as her captive’s master. She soothed and patted the big, upstanding hunter, and he, being now full of grass, and also a little sobered and lamed by his recent fall, actually suffered himself to be led forward like the traditional lamb. “Why, you are a regular horse-tamer!” cried Ulick, as she approached. “I have a way with animals, they say,” she replied; “they are tame enough with me.” “He has given himself a bad over-reach I see! Well, now little Foley, will you put your hand in my pocket--this one--and pull out a flask, and uncork it, as I’ve only one hand?” She instantly did as requested, and with nimble, red fingers fished out a small silver flask. “Whisky?” she suggested, as she unscrewed the stopper. “No, sherry. I shall want some jumping powder to get on the fellow’s back”; and he took a long draught. As he handed the flask to her to be replaced, he said, “Hullo! little Foley, what’s this? You’ve been blubbering; there are two great dirty streaks down your cheeks! What were you crying for?” “Well, then, Mr. Ulick,” getting very red, “sure, didn’t I think you were dead?” “And so you were weeping over my remains? That was very kind of you, little Foley.” “And wouldn’t any one cry after you, Master Ulick?” she demanded with an air of friendly wonder. “Would they? Well I hope I shan’t give them a chance for some years. Now, do you stand by his head, and I’ll do my big best to get on his back.” Apparently the effort was not merely protracted, but agonising. When Mary looked up at the rider, she was startled at what she saw; his face seemed drawn and grey, like that of an old man; the skin looked clammy.