d look at the shops and buy
things!...."

"An' go to the theatre an' have our tea at an eatin'-house?"

"We'd go to an hotel for our tea," he said.

"Oh, no, I'd be near afeard of them places. I wasn't reared up to that
sort of place, an' I wouldn't know what to do, an' all the people
lookin' at me, an' the waiters watchin' every bite you put in your
mouth, 'til you'd near think they'd grudged you your food!"

They made plans over which they laughed, and they mocked each other,
teasing and pretending to anger, and he pulled her hair and kissed her,
and she slapped his cheeks and kissed him.

"I'd give the world," she said, "to have my photograph took in a
low-neck dress. Abernethy does them grand!..." She stopped suddenly and
turned her head slightly from him in a listening attitude.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Wheesht!" she replied, and then added, "D'ye hear anything?"

He listened for a moment or two, and then said, "Yes, it sounds like a
horse gallopin'...." They listened again, and then she proceeded. "You'd
near think it was runnin' away," she said.

The sound of hooves rapidly beating the ground and the noise of
quickly-revolving wheels came nearer.

"It _is_ runnin' away," she said, getting up from the bank and moving
into the middle of the road where she stood looking in the direction
from which the sound came.

"Don't stand in the road," Henry shouted to her. "You might get hurt."

She did not move nor did she appear to hear what he was saying. He had a
strange sensation of shrinking, a desire not to be there, but he subdued
it and went to join her in the middle of the road.

"Here it is," she said, turning to him and pointing to where the road
made a sudden swerve.

He looked and saw a galloping horse, head down, coming rapidly towards
them. There was a light cart behind it, bumping and swaying so that it
seemed likely to be overturned, but there was no driver. It was still
some way off, and he had time to think that he ought to stop the
frightened animal. If it were allowed to go on, it might kill some one
in the village. There would be children playing about in the street....

"I'll stop it," he said to himself, and half-consciously he buttoned his
coat.

He tried to remember just what he ought to do. William Henry Matier had
told, him not to stand right in front of a runaway horse, but to move to
the side so that he could run with it. He would do that, and then he
would spring at its head