“The pony’s quite quiet now, Dummy,” she said gently. “Let him have his head again—there’s a good boy.”
Dummy shook his own, and Mary bit her red lip, and made it scarlet.
“But I shouldn’t like to be seen led up home like this, Dummy,” she said softly. “It looks as if I can’t ride.”
“Every one knows you can ride beautiful, mistress.”
“But please let go now.”
“Nay: won’t.”
“I’ll give you some money, Dummy.”
“Wouldn’t for two donkey panniers full o’ gold—there!” cried the lad. “Come on.”
This to the pony, and then the boy checked the cob.
“That your whip, mistress?” he said, turning and wagging his head sidewise towards where, half-a-dozen yards down the steep slope, the whip lay, where Ralph had kicked it on to a clump of brambles.