give it them, if they look at you from between
their ugly horns."

"Turkey," I said, for I had often pondered the matter during my
illness, "how did Hawkie behave while you were away with me--that day,
you know?"

"She ate about half a rick of green corn," answered Turkey, coolly.
"But she had the worst of it. They had to make a hole in her side, or
she would have died. There she is off to the turnips!"

He was after her with shout and flourish. Hawkie heard and obeyed,
turning round on her hind-legs with a sudden start, for she knew from
his voice that he was in a dangerously energetic mood.

"You'll be all right again soon," he said, coming quietly back to
me. Kirsty had gone to the farmhouse, leaving me with injunctions to
Turkey concerning me.

"Oh yes, I'm nearly well now; only I can't walk yet."

"Will you come on my back?" he said.

When Kirsty returned to take me home, there was I following the cows
on Turkey's back, riding him about wherever I chose; for my horse was
obedient as only a dog, or a horse, or a servant from love can
be. From that day I recovered very rapidly.

CHAPTER XIV

Elsie Duff

How all the boys and girls stared at me, as timidly, yet with a sense
of importance derived from the distinction of having been so ill, I
entered the parish school one morning, about ten o'clock! For as I
said before, I had gone to school for some months before I was taken
ill. It was a very different affair from Dame Shand's tyrannical
little kingdom. Here were boys of all ages, and girls likewise, ruled
over by an energetic young man, with a touch of genius, manifested
chiefly in an enthusiasm for teaching. He had spoken to me kindly the
first day I went, and had so secured my attachment that it never
wavered, not even when, once, supposing me guilty of a certain breach
of orders committed by my next neighbour, he called me up, and, with
more severity than usual, ordered me to hold up my hand. The lash
stung me dreadfully, but I was able to smile in his face
notwithstanding. I could not have done that had I been guilty. He
dropped his hand, already lifted for the second blow, and sent me back
to my seat. I suppose either his heart interfered, or he saw that I
was not in need of more punishment. The greatest good he did me, one
for which I shall be ever grateful, was the rousing in me of a love
for English literature, especially poetry. But I cannot linger upon
this at present, tempting although i