rate's day with the old horse 233 



say, for a tired horse, even with bonny Kate Lowry 

 on his back. 



Under the wall lay the grey, stone dead, and 

 under him George Vernon, his white face looking 

 up at the sky now darkly bright with the frost of 

 a November evening. 



How Kate got her cousin from under his horse 

 and watched the colour creep back to his bronzed 

 cheek, no one knows, for she kept these things in 

 her own sweet heart, but it was late in the evening 

 that a party sent out to search met an old woman 

 leading along a donkey cart, on which lay poor 

 Vernon, his leg and collar bone broken, while 

 beside him sat a lady, her face white with pain, 

 which her colour alone betrayed, and after them 

 came a yokel leading old Joe, and followed by the 

 best pack in Ireland. 



The day had one more event in store for the 

 villagers of Kempford. Arrived at the inn, Kate 

 Lowry did what no Lowry had ever been known to 

 do before — she fainted. On recovering, she shame- 

 facedly exclaimed, " I think I must have broken 

 something when I fell at the beginning of the run, 

 and it has hurt me rather ever since." 



She had broken something. No more nor less 

 than three ribs ; but if she had refused a humble 

 prayer made to her three weeks later she would 



