James turned his head aside, and murmured something inaudibly.
But Isy had only fainted. After some eager ministrations on the part of Peter, she came to herself once more, and lay panting, her forehead wet as with the dew of death.
The farmer ran out to a loft in the yard, and calling the herd-boy, a clever lad, told him to rise and ride for the doctor as fast as the mare could lay feet to the road.
“Tell him,” he said, “that Isy has come to life, and he maun munt and ride like the vera mischeef, or she’ll be deid again afore he wins til her. Gien ye canna get the tae doctor, awa wi’ ye to the tither, and dinna ley him till ye see him i’ the saiddle and startit. Syne ye can ease the mere, and come hame at yer leisur; he’ll be here lang afore ye!—Tell him I’ll pey him ony fee he likes, be’t what it may, and never compleen!—Awa’ wi’ ye like the vera deevil!”
“I didna think ye kenned hoo he rade,” answered the boy pawkily, as he shot to the stable. “Weel,” he added, “ye maunna gley asklent at the mere whan she comes hame some saipy-like!”
When he returned on the mare’s back, the farmer was waiting for him with the whisky-bottle in his hand.
“Na, na!” he said, seeing the lad eye the bottle, “it’s no for you! ye want a’ the sma’ wit ye ever hed: it’s no you ’at has to gallop; ye hae but to stick on!—Hae, Susy!”
He poured half a tumblerful into a soup-plate, and held it out to the mare, who, never snuffing at it, licked it up greedily, and immediately started of herself at a good pace.
Peter carried the bottle to the chamber, and got Isy to swallow a little, after which she began to recover again. Nor did Marion forget to administer a share to James, who was not a little in want of it.
When, within an hour, the doctor arrived full of amazed incredulity, he found Isy in a troubled sleep, and James gone to bed.