"Don't come, kiddie," the boy said, wretchedly. "Wally, you take her home."
"Why?" said Norah. "We saw Cecil—where's Bobs?" Her eyes were wandering round the gully. They passed Cecil, lying on his face in the bracken, and travelled further up the hill. Then she turned suddenly white, and flung herself off Sirdar.
Jim caught her as she came blindly past him.
"Kiddie—it's no good—you mustn't!"
"I must," she said, and broke from him, running up the hillside. Jim followed her with a long stride, his arm round her as she stumbled through the ferns and boulders. When they came to Bobs he held her back for a moment.
The pony was nearly done. As they looked his head beat the ground again unavailingly, and at the piteous sight a dry sob broke from Norah, and she went on her knees by him.
"Norah—dear little chap—you mustn't." Jim's voice was choking. "He doesn't know what he's doing, poor old boy—it isn't safe."
"He wants me," she said. "Bobs—dear Bobs!"
At the voice he knew the pony quivered and struggled to rise. It was no use—he fell back, though the beautiful head lifted itself, and the brown eyes tried to find her. She sat down and took his head on her knee, stroking his neck and speaking to him... broken, pitiful words. Presently she put her cheek down to him, and crouched there above him. Something of his agony died out of Bobs' eyes. He did not struggle any more. After a little he gave a long shiver, straightening out; and so died, gently.