The laird cut a short thin wand which could not do much harm in the hands of Norman, and kindly saw them off as before on the road.
The day was fine and bright, and the pure Highland air raised Fanny’s spirits. She drew on the little carriage at a quick rate, singing merrily as she went. Norman felt unusually happy, he flourished his stick without attempting to beat Fanny, and shouted at the top of his voice. When the ground was rough, and the carriage bumped about, he held on to the sides with both his hands, but even that he thought very good fun. Quite regardless, however, of the exertion Fanny had to make on his account, he told her to go faster and faster.
“I like the bumping and tumbling. It puts me in mind of being at sea,—go on, go on,” he shouted.
Fanny proceeded for some distance, and at last felt so tired, that she was obliged to stop.
“I must rest for a few minutes, Norman,” she said, “for really it is very hard work going over this rough ground.”
“Oh, nonsense! you are lazy, you see how I like it, and so you ought to keep going on, I cannot give you many minutes to rest,” he replied.
“That’s a good joke,” said Fanny, “if you will drag the carriage and let me get into it, you will soon find that it is not so easy as you suppose to drag it over this ground.”
“You are heavier than I am, so that would not be fair, and besides, you promised to draw me, and you say you always do what you promise.”
“That is true,” said Fanny; “I am much heavier than you are, and I have really no wish that you should draw me, but pray have patience, and I will go on again.”
Norman got out of the carriage and ran about, he might just as well have gone on in front, and saved Fanny the trouble of dragging him so far; that, he did not think of.