"An' I touches me hat an' says: 'Certainly, miss. Don't mention it, miss,' an' we was friends after that.
"An' that's the reason, Mr. Harry, I hate to see ye go off an'—beggin' yer pardon—make a fool o' yerself. For she loves ye true, sir, like as Annie loves me, an' I know, sir, if she took it hard before ye was married, it ud near kill her now. Ye mustn't mind what she says when she's angry, for she just thinks o' the worst things she can to hurt yer feelin's, but Lord! sir, she don't mean it no more'n a rabbit, an' if ye'll give her half a chance and don't act like an iceberg she'll want to make up. Me an' Annie, Mr. Harry, we pulls together lovely. I'm the boss in some things, an' she's the boss in others; I lets her think she can manage me, an' she lets me think I can manage her—and I can, sir. Sometimes we have little quarrels, but it's mostly for the joy o' makin' up, an' we're that happy, sir, that we wants to see everyone else happy."
The horses had slowed to a walk, but Mr. Harry did not notice it. A smile was beginning to struggle with the hard lines about his mouth.
"Well, Peter," he said, "you've preached quite a sermon. What would you advise?"
"That ye go back an' take a firm hold o' the bridle, sir, an' if she uses the whip, just hold on hard an' don't let on that it hurts."
Mr. Harry looked at Peter and the smile spread to his eyes. "And then when she drops it," he asked, "just laugh and ride on?"
Peter coughed a deprecatory cough.
"Beggin' yer pardon, Mr. Harry, I think if I was in your place I'd pick it up an' keep it meself. It might come in handy in case of emergencies."
Mr. Harry threw back his head in a quick, boyish laugh, and reaching over he took the lines and turned the horses' heads.