backed, and but for Dummy seizing the rein once more, its hind-legs
would have gone over the edge.

"Look at that, mistress," said the boy quietly; "see what you nearly
did;" and, slipping his arm through once more, he walked on, cheek by
jowl with the pony, which seemed on the most friendly terms with him,
swinging its nose round and making little playful bites at his stout
doublet.

"Now, sir," cried Mary angrily, "I have my whip, and if you do not leave
the pony's head directly, and come round to the back, I'll beat you."

"Nay, not you," said the boy, without looking round. "Why, if I did,
the pony would only turn about and follow me."

"He would not."

"There, then, see," said the boy; and slipping out his arm, he turned
and walked back, the pony pivoting round directly. "Told you so," said
Dummy, and he resumed his old place, with his arm through the rein.

"You told him to turn round, sir."

"Nay, never spoke to him, Miss Mary.--There, it aren't no good to be
cross with me; I shan't leave you till you're safe home."

The girl, flushed with passion, leaned forward, and struck the lad
sharply over the shoulders three times.

"There, sir," she cried; "what do you say to that?"

"Thank ye," replied the boy coolly. "Frighten away the flies."

Whish-whish-whish, came the whip through the air.

"Now then," cried Mary; "what do you say now?"

"Hit harder, mistress," said the boy, with a chuckle; "that only
tickles."

"Oh!" cried Mary, in a burst of passion. "I did like you, Dummy, but
you're a nasty, ugly old thing;" and she subsided in her saddle, sobbing
with vexation, while Dummy rounded his shoulders a little more, and
plodded on in silence, with the pony's shoes tapping the stony path, as
it playfully kept on making little bites at different parts of the boy's
clothes.

"'Taren't no use to be cross with me, mistress," said the boy at last.
"Can't help it. You don't know, and I do. S'pose he runs off again,
and Master Mark says to me, `Why didn't you lead her home?' what am I to
say?"

Mary sat gazing straight before her, and had to ride ignominiously back
to the zigzags leading up to the top of the Black Tor, where she
dismounted, and Dummy led the pony to its underground stable.

"I shan't tell Master Mark," said the boy to the pony, as he took off
bridle and saddle; "and you can't, Ugly; and she won't neither, so
nobody'll never know."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

MASTER RAYBURN ADVISES