h 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.

* * * * *

"Come on home, old kiddie."

It seemed a long time after, Norah could not think of a time when she
had done anything but sit with that quiet head on her knee. She
shuddered all over.

"I can't leave him."

"You must come, dear." Jim's hands were lifting Bobs' head as tenderly
as she herself could have done it. He picked her up and held her as
though she had been a baby, and she clung to him, shaking.

"If I could help you!" he said, and there were tears in his eyes. "Oh,
Nor.--you know, don't you?"

He felt her hand tighten on his arm. Then he carried her down the hill,
where Garryowen stood waiting.

"The others have gone," he said. "I sent them home--Wally and--that
brute! I've told him to go--I'll kill him if I see him again!" He lifted
her into his saddle, and keeping his arms round her, walked beside the
bay horse down the gully and out upon the plain.

"Jim," she whispered--somewhere her voice had gone away--"you can't go
home like that. Let me walk." His arm tightened.

"I'm all right," he said--"poor little mate!"

They did not speak again until they were nearly home--where, ahead,
Brownie waited, her kind eyes red; while every man about the homestead
was near the gate, a stern-faced, angry group that talked in savage
undertones. Murty came forward as Jim lifted Norah down.

"Miss Norah," he said. "Miss Norah, dear--sure I'd sooner--"

The tall fellow's voice broke as he looked at the white,