d with a knife, had come apart,
fallen about her neck and then under her feet. She was off like the
wind.

As for poor Lady Anne, suddenly rendered helpless, she caught at the
side of the little carriage, which was being dragged violently at the
pony's heels. She had need of all her spirit. Fortunately, the road was
a straight one, but there was not a soul in sight to help her, not a
sower in the fields, not a ploughman, not even a boy herding cattle
along the road. Her right hand still grasped the useless rein. She
stared before her, while the rocking of the little carriage grew more
and more violent, and the hedges and trees flew past them. How long
would it be before the terrified pony shook herself free of the carriage
altogether, or upset it on one of those mud-banks?

The old spirit kept wonderfully calm and collected. There was just one
chance--that Chloe might keep the middle of the road, and presently pull
up of herself, being exhausted. If only the phaeton would not rock so
much. It was swaying from side to side at a terrific rate. The few
seconds of the runaway seemed aeons of time to Lady Anne. She was holding
on now to both sides of the carriage, but her arm was through the reins.
Thank Heaven, the road seemed absolutely open and Chloe must exhaust
herself soon.

Then--her eyes were distended in her face. They had swung round a little
incline, with a miraculous escape of running on a heap of shingle
intended for mending the roads. Just ahead of them were the lodge gates
and lodge of a big house. The gates were open. Out through them there
toddled a small child about three years old. The child set out to cross
the road. His attention was arrested by the noise of the runaway. He
stood in the middle of the road staring.

Lady Anne uttered a loud, sharp cry. The child moved a few steps, fell,
and lay directly in the path of Chloe's feet. A woman ran out of the
lodge, screaming "Patsy, Patsy; where are you, Patsy?" Then she began to
wring her hands and call on all the saints.

The pony, however, had of herself come to a standstill. The child was
under her feet, between her four little hoofs. She was shaking and
sweating and looking down. As for the child, after a second or so he
broke into a lusty roar. He was only frightened, not hurt, but it took a
little time for the mother to find that out by reason of the mud on his
face and the noise he was making. When she had reassured herself, she
carried him insi