“Nay, not you,” said the boy, without looking round. “Why, if I did, the pony would only turn about and follow me.”
“He would not.”
“There, then, see,” said the boy; and slipping out his arm, he turned and walked back, the pony pivoting round directly. “Told you so,” said Dummy, and he resumed his old place, with his arm through the rein.
“You told him to turn round, sir.”
“Nay, never spoke to him, Miss Mary.—There, it aren’t no good to be cross with me; I shan’t leave you till you’re safe home.”
The girl, flushed with passion, leaned forward, and struck the lad sharply over the shoulders three times.
“There, sir,” she cried; “what do you say to that?”
“Thank ye,” replied the boy coolly. “Frighten away the flies.”
Whish-whish-whish, came the whip through the air.
“Now then,” cried Mary; “what do you say now?”