ourse, and the pommel hit me
right on the nose; and before I could get over it, he was off along with
the rest, full gallop, and I was sitting on the ground, thinking about
my mother and what a mess I was in, and my horse looking as if he was
ashamed of me, as I was of myself. I wonder he didn't gallop off, too;
but I s'pose he thought he wouldn't get a better master."

"But your face, Samson? It looks horrid."

"Well, I can't help that, Master Fred, can I? Didn't make my own face.
Good enough to come and fight with."

"Come along with me to the surgeon."

"What, and leave my horse? Not I, sir."

"A man's wounds are of more consequence than a horse."

"Who says so? I think a mortal deal more o' my horse than I do o' my
wounds. 'Sides I arn't got no wounds."

"You have, and don't know it. You have quite a mask of blood on your
face. It is hideous."

"Yah! that's nothing. It's my nose. It always was a one to bleed.
Whenever that brother o' mine, who went to grief and soldiering, used to
make me smell his fist, my nose always bled, and his fist was quite as
hard as that hard-riding R'y'list chap's. Called me a Roundhead dog,
too, he did, as he hit me. If I'd caught him, I'd ha' rounded his head
for him."

"Yes, yes, of course, Samson; but come down to the stream, and bathe
your face. Your horse is grazing now."

"You're getting too vain and partic'lar, Master Fred," grumbled Samson.
"You're thinking of looking nice, like the R'y'lists, when you ought to
be proud of a little blood shed in the good cause."

"I am proud and ready too, Samson; but come and wash your face."

"I'll come," grumbled Samson; "and I never kears about washing myself
now. Never a drop o' hot water, no towels, no soap, and no well, and no
buckets. Once a week seems quite enough, specially as you has to wait
till you get dry."

By a little persuasion, Samson was led to the stream, where he knelt
down and bathed his face, looking up to his master from time to time to
ask if that was better, the final result being that, beyond a little
swelling on one side, Samson's nose was none the worse for the
encounter.

"There!" he cried at last; "I suppose that will do, sir."

"Yes, my lad, and I'm very, very glad you have escaped so well."

"Oh, I've 'scaped well enough, Master Fred; deal better than I deserved.
We're a wicked, bad, good-for-nothing family. Look at our Nat,
fighting against his own brother."

"It is very sad,