“And I'm very proud of my small foot, watch-dog,” said Peg, a smile struggling with the lines of pain which pinched the corners of her mouth. “Yes, I am proud of my small foot. Why not? It came to me from that same wareroom of nature where you got your great heart and that arm of might, and where the good General found his honesty and his courage. I've as much right to be proud of my foot as you folk of those attributes of excellence I've named.” Peg was striving to laugh down her pain with these compliments for her foot; I could tell, moreover, that she was a far cry from success, for her pretty argument ended in a halfsob as a pang more than commonly severe crushed her poor ankle in its vise. Gently I chafed Peg's foot; and while that would do little good, it served to soothe and modify the instant agony. Meanwhile I told her how I would carry her home in my arms so soon as the first grief of the sprain was chafed away. “Carry me in your arms!” cried Peg. “What else?” said I. “You can't walk.” So, then, Peg made no more demur; and presently, when her foot was well enough, I lifted her and started through the woods. It would be no more than just carrying a child; and since Peg put her arm about my neck, and helped to keep her place, my own arms even failed of the full burden of her. It was an easy task at any rate, and if you will be told it, a sweet task, too; this walk with Peg held close, and her hair, which had been caught up with a comb, to fall down and sweep across my throat and face. I could taste a fragrance in that hair like a breath from the Isles of Spice--a perfume that fair set my bosom in a flame. It might have been the half of a mile that I carried Peg; however, I had no knowledge of it, whether for the distance or the time, but only of a bliss that was like a radiance, and a heart-willingness to go on and on and on to the world's end. It was Peg herself who at last would bring me to my senses; for I was pressing forward as void of speculation as a drunken man to march through the crowded avenues of the town, Peg on my breast and my two arms holding her tight like a treasure. “Put me down, watch-dog,” whispered Peg, for her mouth was at the very door of my ear, “put me down. I can stand well enough. Have me down, and let us wait here until we can call a carriage. It would be a perplexing sight to quiet folk were you to go striding through the streets with such a burden.” With a sigh to end so dear a toil, I had Peg down carefully; and there she stood, and as she would say it, “like a chicken on one foot.” It fell our luck that one of those carriages of public livery, whereof there was plentiful store in the town, drove by about this time. I called to it, and placing Peg therein, soon had her at her own door. “I am mighty sorry for the sprain,” said I, as I lifted Peg from the carriage.