we had decided Tom must stay at home, or his shoeless hoof would not stand the long drive to Pembroke next day. She was just like a table, this horse of Macpherson’s, with a thin neck stuck on at one end, and a very large and heavy head; her paces consisted of a jog-trot and a walk, and she had no regard for bit, bridle, or rider. Macpherson himself was on the oddest beast I have ever seen: his pigeon-toes turned in till the knee-joints bent outwards; he appeared to have four hind legs, so that, like Mephilbosheth, he was lame on both his feet. But it was wonderful what that animal went over; indeed, he appeared to be able to climb anything, though his temper was testy, and he occasionally refused absolutely to proceed. Then would begin a battle between them, his rider emitting strange sounds of wrath with awful Gaelic threatenings, and they would twist and turn on the edge of some declivity where his poor, malformed legs were like to be broken; till, with a sudden plunge, a slide, and Macpherson’s heels playing a tune on his ribs, they arrived safely at the bottom.
The larks were singing as we rode over the dewy flat and reached the first ford—the mountains were clear of mist and very pure and sharp, and the bunnies were having high-jinks. On looking back we saw old Tom hurrying after us, greatly alarmed at being left behind, and there was nothing for it but to let him come. Plunging into the flood with a splash he raced after us, and indeed, as it
