was really taking things seriously,
and that the young woman too looked distressed and anxious, he came
forward quietly, and before Hoodie knew what he was doing he had lifted
her up with a spring on to his shoulder, where she sat perched like a
little queen.

"Now, Miss Hoodie," he said, "if you'll be good, perhaps I'll carry you
home."

Hoodie, though extremely well pleased with her new and exalted position,
was true to her colours.

"_Carry_ me home, Coss," she said imperiously; "hasn't you brought the
calliage for me?"

"No, indeed I haven't," replied Cross; "little Misses as runs away from
home can't expect to be fetched back in a carriage and pair. I think
you're very well off as it is. But we must make haste home--just think
how frightened your poor mamma has been."

Hoodie tossed her head. Some very naughty imp seemed to have got her in
his possession just then.

"Gee-up, gee-who, get along, horsey," she cried, pummelling Cross's
shoulders unmercifully with her feet. "Gallop away, old horse Coss,
gee-up, gee-up. Good night, little baby's mother, I _sall_ come back;"
and Cross, thankful to get her away on any terms, turned to the door,
humouring her by pretending to trot and gallop. But half way down the
little garden path Hoodie suddenly pulled him up, literally pulled him
up, by clasping him with her two arms so tightly round the throat that
he was nearly strangled.

"Stop, stop, horsey," she cried, "I haven't kissed the baby. I must kiss
the baby."

Even Cross's good nature was nearly at an end, but he dared not oppose
her. He stood still, very red in the face, with some muttered
exclamation, while Hoodie screamed to Lizzie to bring out the baby to be
kissed, perfectly regardless of Martin's remonstrances.

And in this fashion at last Hoodie was brought home--Martin walking home
in silent despair alongside. Only when they got close to the lodge gate
Hoodie pulled up Cross again, but this time in much gentler fashion.

"Let me down, Coss, please," she said, meekly enough, "I'd rather walk
now."

And walk in she did, as demurely and comfortably as if she had just
returned from an ordinary walk with her nurse.

"Was there ever such a child?" said Martin to herself again.

And poor Cross, as he walked away wiping his forehead, decided in his
own mind that he'd rather have the breaking in of twenty young horses
than of such a queer specimen as little Miss Hoodie.

[Illustration: Poor Cross]