"Well, Mr. Harry, as ye can believe, she didn't like it, an' she calls out sharp and imperative for me to let go. But I hangs on an' begins to gallop, an' with that she raises her crop an' cuts me over the hand as hard as she can. It hurt considerable, but I held on an' didn't say nothin', an' she raised her arm to strike again. But just at that moment a wave broke almost at the horses' feet, an' Blue Gypsy reared, an' Miss Ethel, who wasn't expectin' it, almost lost her balance an' the crop dropped on the sand. "'Peter,' she says, 'go back an' get me that crop.' "But by that time I'd got the bit in me teeth, sir, an' I just laughs--ugly like--an' keeps holt o' the bridle an' gallops on. Well, sir, then she was 'most crazy, an' she tries to shake off me arm with her fist, but she might as well have tried to shake down a tree. I looks at her, an' smiles to meself impertinent, an' keeps on. An' she looks all around, desperate like, hopin' to see someone within call, but the beach was empty, an' there wasn't nothin' she could do, I bein' so much stronger." "You brute!" said Mr. Harry. "I was savin' her life," said Peter. "An' when she saw she couldn't do nothin' she kind o' sobbed down low to herself an' said, soft like: '_I'll discharge you, Peter, when we get home._' "I touches me hat an' says as polite as ye please: 'Very well, miss, but we ain't home yet, miss, and I'm boss for the present.' "With that a great big wave comes swash up against the horses' legs, an' lucky it is that I had a holt o' the bridle, for Blue Gypsy would 'a' thrown her sure. An' after I got her back on her four legs--Blue Gypsy, sir--an' we was goin' on again, Miss Ethel throws a look over her shoulder at the inlet which was all under water, an' then she looks down at me hand that had a great big red welt across it, an' she said so low I could scarce hear her over the waves: "'You can take your hand away, Peter. I'll ride straight home.' "I knew she meant it, but me hand was burnin' like fire, and I'd got me temper up, so I looks at her doubtin' like, as if I couldn't believe her, an' she turns red an' says, 'Can't ye trust me, Peter?' an' with that I touches me hat an' falls behind. "An' when we got back, sir, and I got off at the porter-ker-cher to help her dismount, what does she do but take me big red hand in both o' hers, an' she looks at the scar, an' then she looks in me eyes, an' she says, like as ye hit straight from the shoulder, sir, 'Peter,' she says, 'I'm sorry I struck you. Will ye forgive me?' she says. "An' I touches me hat an' says: 'Certainly, miss. Don't mention it, miss,' an' we was friends after that.