“Never mind, I’ll go;” but Ambrose never accepted the offer. He went with a shiver down his back, and a sort of distended feeling in his ears, which seemed to be unnaturally on the alert for mysterious noises.
He always made up his mind before he got to the passage to check a wild desire to run at full speed, and walk through it slowly, but this resolve was never carried out.
Before he had gone two steps in the darkness there would be a sense of something following close behind, and then all was over, and nothing to be seen but a panic-stricken little boy rushing along with his hands held over his ears. How foolish! you will say. Very foolish, indeed, and so said all the other children, adding many a taunt and jeer.
But that did not do poor Ambrose any good, and he remained just as timid as ever. Nevertheless there were moments of real danger when Ambrose had been known to come gallantly to the front, and when he seemed to change suddenly from a fearful, shrinking boy into a hero. Such was the occasion when, alone of all the children, who stood shrieking on the other side of the hedge, he had ventured back into the field to rescue Dickie, who by some accident had been left behind among a herd of cows. There she stood bewildered, holding up her little pinafore full of daisies, helpless among those large horned monsters.
“Run, Dickie,” shouted the children; but Dickie was rooted to the ground with terror, and did not move.
Then Ambrose took his courage in both hands, and leaving the safe shelter of the hedge, ran back to his little sister’s side. As he reached her a large black cow with crooked horns detached herself from the herd, and walked quickly up to the children lashing her tail. Ambrose did not stir. He stood in front of Dickie, took off his straw hat and waved it in the cow’s face. She stood still.
“Run back to the others, Dickie,” said Ambrose quietly, and, Dickie’s chubby legs recovering power of movement, she toddled quickly off, strewing the ground with daisies as she went. Covering her retreat, Ambrose remained facing the cow, and walked slowly backwards still brandishing his hat; then, one quick glance over his shoulder assuring him of Dickie’s safety, he too took to his heels, and scrambled through the gap.
That was certainly brave of Ambrose; for though Farmer Snow told them afterwards, “Thuccy black coo never would a touched ’ee,” still she might have, and for the moment Ambrose was a hero.
The children carried home an excited account of the affair to their father, penetrating into his very study, which was generally forbidden ground.