On the Saturday following she started again, and again Elimelech insisted on being of the party. She had no great fear for his safety this time, for unless it came to throwing stones, which was unlikely on a market-day with policemen about, she knew that he could save himself by flight. And so it happened; whenever anything occurred to disturb him, Elimelech would fly up to some lofty point of vantage, and as regularly rejoin his company at the inn. But as time went on, he had less and less need for these sallies; Northstow grew accustomed to the strange trio, and though a boy would sometimes howl, or a passer-by stop and stare, no one seriously troubled them. So the autumn and winter passed, and Selina began to thrive. Cheerfully and untiringly she went about her business; she was always to be relied on, and apart from her own virtues her pony and her starling attracted attention to her, and got her many new customers. Indeed Selina began to think Elimelech so important a partner in the concern, that when February came and the wild starlings in the village began to mate, she took the precaution of cutting one of his wings, lest his natural instincts should get the better of him. To lose him would be a terrible thing both for herself and Fan, who showed much discontent if the bird were not on her back, gently probing her old coat with his bill. “Oh, he loves Fan better than me,” Selina would say to her visitors, of whom she now had plenty; “he loves me, but he loves Fan better.” If we could have penetrated into Elimelech’s mind, I do not think we should have found that this was exactly so. I believe that he loved Selina as well as we all did—I believe that he looked upon her, as Mr. Dick looked upon Aunt Betsey, as the most wonderful woman in the world. But I think that Fan’s back was a more comfortable perch than Selina’s shoulder, and the hovel more suited to his turn of mind than her kitchen—and that was all. So the years went on, Selina throve, Elimelech’s partnership was unbroken, but Fan began to grow really old at last. She struggled up the hill with all her old pluck, but her breath came short and quick. Many a time in those days have I watched the three making their way up the long hill beyond the village, Fan panting and struggling, Elimelech whistling encouragingly on her back, and Selina, who had dismounted to ease her friend, following the cart slowly, her old black bonnet nodding with each step, and the head inside it bending over till it was almost on a level with her waist.