, and beheld a cow of
Loveday's, of the name of Crumpler, standing close to her shoulder. It
being about milking-time, she had come to look up David and hasten on the
operation.

'O, what a horrid bull!--it did frighten me so. I hope I shan't faint,'
said Matilda.

The miller immediately used the formula which has been uttered by the
proprietors of live stock ever since Noah's time. 'She won't hurt ye.
Hoosh, Crumpler! She's as timid as a mouse, ma'am.'

But as Crumpler persisted in making another terrific inquiry for David,
Matilda could not help closing her eyes and saying, 'O, I shall be gored
to death!' her head falling back upon Bob's shoulder, which--seeing the
urgent circumstances, and knowing her delicate nature--he had
providentially placed in a position to catch her. Anne Garland, who had
been standing at the corner of the house, not knowing whether to go back
or come on, at this felt her womanly sympathies aroused. She ran and
dipped her handkerchief into the splashing mill-tail, and with it damped
Matilda's face. But as her eyes still remained closed, Bob, to increase
the effect, took the handkerchief from Anne and wrung it out on the
bridge of Matilda's nose, whence it ran over the rest of her face in a
stream.

'O, Captain Loveday!' said Anne, 'the water is running over her green
silk handkerchief, and into her pretty reticule!'

'There--if I didn't think so!' exclaimed Matilda, opening her eyes,
starting up, and promptly pulling out her own handkerchief, with which
she wiped away the drops, and an unimportant trifle of her complexion,
assisted by Anne, who, in spite of her background of antagonistic
emotions, could not help being interested.

'That's right!' said the miller, his spirits reviving with the revival of
Matilda. 'The lady is not used to country life; are you, ma'am?'

'I am not,' replied the sufferer. 'All is so strange about here!'

Suddenly there spread into the firmament, from the direction of the
down:--

'Ra, ta, ta! Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta! Ra, ta, ta!'

'O dear, dear! more hideous country sounds, I suppose?' she inquired,
with another start.

'O no,' said the miller cheerfully. ''Tis only my son John's trumpeter
chaps at the camp of dragoons just above us, a-blowing Mess, or Feed, or
Picket, or some other of their vagaries. John will be much pleased to
tell you the meaning on't when he comes down. He's trumpet-major, as you
may know, ma'am.'

'O yes; you mean Cap