Rory mounted and rode like a Centaur, the young lady guide sat like a Shetland-queen. But woe is me for Ralph and Allan,—they were hardly on when they were off again. It must be said for them, however, that they stuck to their bridles if they couldn’t stick to the saddles, and again and again they mounted their fiery steeds with the same ignominious results. Two legs seemed enough for those ponies to walk upon, and it did not matter for the time being whether they were, hind legs or fore legs. They could stand, on their heads too, turn somersaults, and roll over on their backs, and do all sorts of pretty tricks.
“It’s only their fun,” cried Rory, “they’ll shake down presently.”
“Shake down!” said Ralph, rubbing his leg with a wry face. “I’m pretty well shaken down. Why, I don’t believe there is a whole bone in my body.—Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!”
But when the ponies had gone through their performances to their own entire satisfaction, and done quite enough to maintain their name and fame as wild Shetland ponies, they suffered their riders to keep their seats, but tossed their manes in the air, as if to clear their eyesight for the run they were now determined to have.
Then off started the cavalcade, rushing like a hairy hurricane along the mountain road. Swiftly as they went, however, lo! and behold, at every turn of the road the giant and his little boy were visible, the former vaulting along on his pole, the latter running with the speed of a wild deer.
It was early summer in Shetland; the top of lonely Mount Bressay was still shrouded in snow, but all the moorlands were green with grass and heather, and gay with wild hyacinth and crimson-belled bilberry bushes; the light breeze that blew over the islands and across the blue sea was balmy and yet bracing—it was a breeze that raised the spirits; yes, and it did something else, it appealed to the inner man, as Ralph expressed, and so, when after a ride of over a dozen miles a well-known roadside hostelry hove in sight, our heroes positively hailed it with a cheer. What mattered it that the little parlour into which they were shown was destitute of a carpet and possessed of chairs of deal? It was clean and quiet, the tablecloth was spotless as the snows of Ben Rona, the cakes were crisp, the bread was white, the butter was redolent of the fragrant herbage that the cows had browsed, and the rich milk was purer and better far than any wine that could have been placed before them; and when hot and steaming smoked haddocks were added to the fare, why they would not have changed places with a king in his banqueting-hall.
All confessed they had never spent a more enjoyable forenoon. The ride back was especially delightful. Before they left their guides to return on board, little Norna, the giant’s lovely daughter, produced from the mysterious depths of her peat-creel quite a wonderful assortment of gauzy mits and gauntlets, and tiny little shawls, and queer old-fashioned head-dresses, all knitted by her own fair fingers. Of course they bought some of each as souvenirs of their visit to the sea-girdled mainland of Shetland, and they paid for them so liberally too, that the tears stood in the girl’s blue eyes as they bade her good-bye. Norna had never been so rich in her life before.
Captain McBain was in his cabin poring over a chart when our heroes returned.
“Bravo! boys,” he said, heartily; “you’re up to time, and now, as the breeze is from the south with a point or two of east in it, I think we’d better make sail without delay. We’ll work her quietly through the sound. We’ll keep to the south of Yell, but once past Fiedland Point, good-bye to the British Islands for many a day. What more can we wish, boys, than a fair wind and a clear sea, light hearts, and a ship that can go?”
“What more indeed?” said Rory.