Just then an old-fashioned lumbering motor car came by. This was the finish to Starlight. He reared upright, bolt upright in the air, shook Tilly off him as though she was a fly, left her sitting on the road and immediately relieved from his burden began to munch some delicious green grass from the roadside.
"I'm killed, Malachi, I'm killed," sobbed Tilly.
"Well, to be sure, are you now?" said Malachi. "I'm thinking perhaps 'twas a pin. I don't think you are killed, but you might have been if I hadn't let you down soft. I took all the pins out, I thought."
"What pins?" said Tilly, turning very white.
"What pins! Oh, but ye are a nasty little beggar; didn't I watch you when ye were sticking them all over the inside of the saddle yesterday? Ye didn't guess I was having a snooze in the loose box. I often sleep there when I'm partial to the beasts. Well, to be sure, I put the pins in a packet. Here they are, you can look at them. How many do you reckon you put in?"
"I don't remember—oh, none! Don't scold me, Malachi!"
"Don't scold ye, ye little liar!"
"Malachi, I tell you I am dying, I am going to faint, I know I am."
"Well, faint away, colleen, it doesn't matter to me!"
This remarkable announcement on the part of Malachi had also a remarkable effect in restoring Tilly's nerves. It was no use to faint if nobody cared. How dreadful Tilly felt, how sore and bruised and broken.