Still, they were gradually becoming excellent little horsemen and horsewomen—even the youngest, only four years old, whom all the rest were very tender over, and who was often held on Jess's back and given a ride out of her turn because she was a good little girl, and never cried for it. And seldomer and seldomer was heard the mysterious sound of the whip in the air, which warned them of quarreling—Brownie hated quarreling.
Jess quickly ducked her head down and Bill tumbled over it.
In fact, their only trouble was Bill, who never came to his work in time, and never did things when wanted, and was ill-natured, lazy, and cross to the children, so that they disliked him very much.
"I wish the Brownie would punish you," said one of the boys; "you'd behave better then."
"The Brownie!" cried Bill, contemptuously; "if I caught him, I'd kick him up in the air like this!"
And he kicked up his cap—his only cap, it was—which, strange to relate, flew right up, ever so high, and lodged at the very top of a tree which overhung the stable, where it dangled for weeks and weeks, during which time poor Bill had to go bareheaded.
He was very much vexed, and revenged himself by vexing the children in all sorts of ways. They would have told their mother, and asked her to send Bill away, only she had a great many anxieties just then, for their old grandmother was very ill, and they did not like to make a fuss about any thing that would trouble her.
So Bill staid on, and nobody found out what a bad, ill-natured, lazy boy he was.
But one day the mother was sent for suddenly, not knowing when she should be able to come home again. She was very sad, and so were the children, for they loved their grandmother—and as the carriage drove off they all stood crying round the front-door for ever so long.