“They did, indeed, with sticks and stones and whatever other missiles came handy. It was most effective: they broke up the procession completely, and the gallant rebels had to be rescued by the police. The women had a great day. I asked one why they didn’t leave the matter entirely to the police, and she looked at me in scorn and asked why would they accommodate themselves with the ignorance of policemen? And indeed, I didn’t know. After all, some things are managed much better without the law.” The road had for some time been leading away from the sea, and now began to climb up a steep cutting, between rock-walls fringed with ferns and mosses. On the hills above them a few goats browsed, their kids cutting capers among the boulders, with complete enjoyment of the game. They mounted steadily for awhile; then, topping the rise, began to glide downwards. The road turned and twisted as they neared the level ground, following the course of a little stream that came rushing from some unseen source. Sir John, who was driving, sounded his horn steadily. “There are not many people on these roads,” he said, over his shoulder. “But it doesn’t do to take risks with the country folk.” “No. Still, I never saw a more desolate road, so far as traffic goes,” Mr. Linton answered. “We have not seen a soul for miles on it.” “I don’t think there _is_ a soul on it,” said Sir John, laughing. The motor swung round a corner, with a prolonged hoot; and there, so close that the bonnet of the car seemed almost to be touching the ass’s nose, came an old woman, nodding sleepily in a cart. There was no time to stop, and no room to turn. The ass planted all four feet stubbornly, stopping dead, and they heard a faint cry from the shawled old figure. “Sit tight,” said O’Neill between his teeth. The brake jammed hard on as he spoke; they had been running down-hill slowly, with the power shut off. The ass backed indignantly; and the great motor swerved to one side, where there was a little more room in the cutting, bumped heavily over dry channels worn by the winter rains, and rammed her bonnet gently into the rock wall. The occupants of the tonneau found themselves in a heap on the floor. The car throbbed to silence, and the old woman in the ass-cart said, “God help us!” loudly. “Well, indeed, He did,” said O’Neill, under his breath. “Are you all right, all of you?” “We’re mixed, but undamaged,” Jim answered. “What about you, O’Neill?” “I’m all right. How is she, Con?” Con had swung himself out before the car finally stopped, and was examining the battered bonnet dismally, finally appealing for help to push her away from the wall. “In a minute,” O’Neill said. He walked over to the old woman, who still sat motionless on the floor of the ass-cart, her withered face pitifully afraid. “Did you not hear the horn?” O’Neill asked.