d a conversation between them, till it was agreed that
Robert, as the groom, should lead me, and that Ned must take the body.
It was a hard job to get it into the dog-cart, for there was no one to
hold Ginger; but she knew as well as I did what was going on, and stood
as still as a stone. I noticed that, because, if she had a fault, it was
that she was impatient in standing.

Ned started off very slowly with his sad load, and Robert came and
looked at my foot again; then he took his handkerchief and bound it
closely round, and so he led me home. I shall never forget that night
walk; it was more than three miles. Robert led me on very slowly, and I
limped and hobbled on as well as I could with great pain. I am sure he
was sorry for me, for he often patted and encouraged me, talking to me
in a pleasant voice.

At last I reached my own box, and had some corn; and after Robert
had wrapped up my knees in wet cloths, he tied up my foot in a bran
poultice, to draw out the heat and cleanse it before the horse-doctor
saw it in the morning, and I managed to get myself down on the straw,
and slept in spite of the pain.

The next day after the farrier had examined my wounds, he said he hoped
the joint was not injured; and if so, I should not be spoiled for work,
but I should never lose the blemish. I believe they did the best to make
a good cure, but it was a long and painful one. Proud flesh, as they
called it, came up in my knees, and was burned out with caustic; and
when at last it was healed, they put a blistering fluid over the front
of both knees to bring all the hair off; they had some reason for this,
and I suppose it was all right.

As Smith's death had been so sudden, and no one was there to see it,
there was an inquest held. The landlord and hostler at the White Lion,
with several other people, gave evidence that he was intoxicated when he
started from the inn. The keeper of the toll-gate said he rode at a hard
gallop through the gate; and my shoe was picked up among the stones, so
that the case was quite plain to them, and I was cleared of all blame.

Everybody pitied Susan. She was nearly out of her mind; she kept saying
over and over again, "Oh! he was so good--so good! It was all that
cursed drink; why will they sell that cursed drink? Oh Reuben, Reuben!"
So she went on till after he was buried; and then, as she had no home or
relations, she, with her six little children, was obliged once more to
leave the pleas