was all Ferdy could get out.
Merton meanwhile had been examining the stirrup straps.
"They're about the right length for you, I think, sir," he said, and then in a moment Ferdy was mounted.
Pony pranced about a little, just a very little, – he would not have seemed a real live pony if he had not, – but nothing to mind. Indeed, Ferdy, to tell the truth, would have enjoyed a little more. The coachman led him a short way along the drive, but then let go, and Ferdy trotted to the gates in grand style and back again.
"Isn't he perfect, Chris?" he exclaimed as he came up to the group in front of the porch. "Mayn't I gallop him, papa, this afternoon when we go out? Round by Mellway there's beautiful grass, you know."
"All right," Mr. Ross replied. "We shall see how you get on outside on the road. I don't know that he has any tricks, but every pony has some fad, so for a few days we must just be a little cautious. Now trot back to the gates once more, and then I think you had better dismount for the present. You may go round to the stable with him. It's always a good thing for your horse to know you in the stable as well as outside."
Off Ferdy went again, a little bit faster this time, his spirits rising higher and higher. Then he turned to come back to the house, and his mother was just stepping indoors, her face still lighted up with pleasure, when there came a sudden cry, – a curious hoarse cry, – but for a moment she was not startled.
"It is the peacocks," she thought, for there were a couple of beautiful peacocks at the Watch House. "I hope they won't frighten the pony."
For the peacocks were allowed to stalk all about the grounds, and they were well-behaved on the whole; though, as is always the case with these birds, their harsh cry was not pleasant, and even startling to those not accustomed to it.
Was it the cry, or was it the sudden sight of them as they came all at once into view on a side-path which met the drive just where Ferdy was passing?
Nobody ever knew, – probably pony himself could not have told which it was, – but as Mrs. Ross instinctively stopped a moment on her way into the house, another sound seemed to mingle with the peacock's scream, or rather to grow out from it – a sort of stifled shriek of terror and rushing alarm. Then came voices, trampling feet, a kind of wail from Chrissie, and in an instant – an instant that seemed a lifetime – Ferdy's mother saw what it was. He had been thrown, and one foot had caught in the stirrup, and the startled pony was dragging him along. A moment or two of sickening horror, then a sort of silence. One of the men was holding the pony, Mr. Ross and the coachman were stooping over something that lay on the ground a little way up the drive – something – what was it? It did not move. Was it only a heap of clothes that had dropped there somehow? It couldn't, oh no, it couldn't be Ferdy! Ferdy was alive and well. He had just been laughing and shouting in his exceeding happiness. Where had he run to?
"Ferdy, Ferdy!" his mother exclaimed, scarcely knowing that she spoke; "Ferdy dear, come quick, come, Ferdy."
But Chrissie caught her, and buried her own terror-stricken face in her mother's skirts.
"Mamma, mamma," she moaned, "don't look like that. Mamma, don't you see? Ferdy's killed. That's Ferdy where papa is. Don't go, oh don't go, mamma! Mamma, I can't bear it. Hide me, hide my eyes."
And at this frantic appeal from the poor little half-maddened sister, Mrs. Ross's strength and sense came back to her as if by magic. She unclasped Chrissie's clutching hands gently but firmly.
"Run upstairs and call Flowers. Tell her to lay a mattress on the floor of the oriel room at once; it is such a little way upstairs; and tell Burt to bring some brandy at once – brandy and water. Tell Burt first."
Chrissie was gone in an instant. Ferdy couldn't be dead, she thought, if mamma wanted brandy for him. But when the mother, nerved by love, flew along the drive to the spot where her husband and the coachman were still bending over what still was, or had been, her Ferdy, she could scarcely keep back a scream of anguish. For a moment she was sure that Chrissie's first words were true – he was killed.
"Walter, Walter, tell me quick," she gasped. "Is he – is he alive?"
Mr. Ross looked up, his own face so deadly pale, his lips so drawn and quivering, that a rush of pity for him came over her.
"I – I don't know. I can't tell. What do you – think, Merton?" he said, in a strange dazed voice. "He has not moved, but we thought he was breathing at first."
The coachman lifted his usually ruddy face; it seemed all streaked, red and white in patches.
"I can feel his heart, sir; I feel fairly sure I can feel his heart. If we could get a drop or two of brandy down his throat, and – yes, I think I can slip my arm under his head. There's Burt coming with some water."
"And brandy," said Mrs. Ross. "Here, give it me – a spoon – yes, that's right. And, Walter, have you sent for the doctor?"
Mr. Ross passed his hand over his forehead, as if trying to collect himself.
"I will send Larkins now," he said, "on the pony – that will be the quickest," though a sort of shudder passed over him as he spoke of the innocent cause of this misery. "Larkins, go at once for Mr. Stern; you know the shortest way," for there was no doctor within a mile or two of Evercombe village, and Mr. Ross raised himself to give exact directions to the young groom.
When he turned again they had succeeded in getting a spoonful of brandy and water between Ferdy's closed lips – then another; then poor old Merton looked up with a gleam of hope in his eyes.
"He's coming to, sir – ma'am – I do believe," he said.
He was right. A quiver ran through the little frame, then came the sound of a deep sigh, and Ferdy's eyes opened slowly. They opened and – it was like Ferdy – the first sign he gave of returning consciousness was a smile – a very sweet smile.
"Papa, mamma," he whispered, "is it time to get up? Is it – my birthday?"
That was too much for his mother. The tears she had been keeping back rushed to her eyes, but they were partly tears of joy. Her boy was alive; at worst he was not killed, and perhaps, oh perhaps, he was not badly hurt.
Ferdy caught sight of her tears, though she had turned her face away in hopes of hiding them. A pained, puzzled look came over him. He tried to raise his head, which was resting on Merton's arm, but it sank down again weakly; then he glanced at his left arm and hand, which were covered with blood from a cut on his forehead.
"What is the – mamma, why are you crying?" he said. "Have I hurt myself? Oh dear, did I fall off my beautiful pony? I am so, so sorry."
"My darling," said his mother, "it was an accident. I hope you will soon be better. Have you any pain anywhere?"
"I don't think so," said he, "only I wish I was in bed, mamma. What is it that is bleeding?"
"Nothing very bad, sir," said Merton cheerfully; "only a cut on your forehead. But that'll soon heal. Your handkerchief, please, ma'am, dipped in cold water."
"Yes," said Mr. Ross, "that is the best thing for the moment," and he folded the handkerchief up into a little pad, which he soaked in the fresh cold water, and laid it on the place. "I think we must move him," he went on. "Ferdy, my boy, will you let us try?"
Ferdy stretched out his right arm and put it round his father's neck. But the movement hurt somehow and somewhere, for he grew terribly white again.
"My back," he whispered.
A thrill of new anguish went through his parents at the words.
"Don't do anything yourself," said Mr. Ross; "lie quite still and trust to me."
Ferdy closed his eyes without speaking, and skilfully, though with infinite pains, his father raised him in his arms, Ferdy making no sound – perhaps he half fainted again; there he lay quite helpless, like a little baby, as with slow, careful tread Mr. Ross made his way to the house, from which, not a quarter of an hour ago, the boy had flown out in perfect health and joy.
At the door they met Chrissie. She started violently,