and returned with a tumbler of milk and a piece of oatcake; and never in his life had the famous baritone from the far city of London tasted anything sweeter, for he was half-dead with hunger.  Greatly refreshed by this opportune bit and sup, the tired and “droukit” rider cheerfully resumed his way; and it was with a stout heart that, after a certain time, he found Roderick cautiously leading the pony down to the water’s edge.  And then a sudden thought struck him.

“Look here, Roderick,” said he, “I suppose I can get across this ford safely enough; but how on earth am I to know when I get to the next one?  I can’t see a yard in front of the pony’s head.”

“I’m coming with ye, sir,” was the simple answer; and at the same moment there was a general splashing which told him that both Maggie and the tall keeper were in the rushing stream.

“Well, I suppose you can’t be wetter than you are,” he said.

“Indeed, that’s true,” Roderick answered, with much composure.

Now this first ford, though a ticklish thing in the pitch darkness, they managed successfully enough; but the next one proved a terrible business.  Roderick went by the pony’s head, with his hand on the bridle; but whether he helped Maggie, or whether Maggie helped him, it would be hard to say.  Lionel could only guess what a mighty floundering there was going on; but Roderick kept encouraging his four-footed companion to hold up; and more than once, when they attained a safe footing, he called a halt to let the faithful Maggie recover her breath.

“Take your feet out o’ the stirrups, sir,” he said, when they were about half-way across; “there’s some nasty sharp ledges the other side, and if she loses her footing you’ll chist slip off before she goes over; and it will not tek ye above the waist whatever, so that you can get ashore by yourself.”

When they did reach those ledges, Maggie seemed to understand the awkwardness of the situation quite as well as he; she went forward only an inch or two at a time; and if her hind-feet occasionally skated a little, her fore-feet remained firm where she had planted them.  As for Lionel, he was, of course, quite helpless; he did not seek to interfere in any way; he was merely ready to slip off the saddle if Maggie rolled over.  But presently a sudden red flash revealed to him that they were near land (this was Alec striking a vesuvian to give them a friendly lead); there was some further cautious sliding and stumbling forward; then the uplifting of Maggie’s neck and shoulders told him she had gained solid ground and was going up the bank.  Never was soft and sure footfall more welcome.