gatherium and the Ichthyosaurus, and all the
fire-spitting dragons of antiquity compared to the traction engines of
the nineteenth century?

"It's a steam plough!" ejaculated Beatrice, below her breath.

"D----n!" cried her uncle, not at all below _his_ breath.

As to Clochette, she stood for an instant stock still, with her ears
pricked and her head well up, facing the horrors of her situation; next
she gave an angry snort as though to say, "No! _this_ is too much!" Then
she turned short round and began a series of peculiar bounds and plunges,
accompanied by an ominous uplifting of her hind quarters, which had
plainly but one object in view--the correct conjugation of the verb
active "to kick."

There was a crunching of woodwork, a cracking as of iron hoofs against
the splash-board. Beatrice instinctively put up her hands before her
face, but she did not utter a sound.

"Do you think you could get down, Pussy, and go to her head?"

"Shall I hold the reins, uncle?"

"No, you couldn't hold her; she'll be over the hedge if I let go of her.
Get down if you can."

It was not easy. Beatrice was in her habit, and to jump from the
vacillating height of a dog-cart to the earth is no easy matter even to
a man unencumbered with petticoats.

"Try and get over the back," said her uncle, who was in momentary terror
lest the mare's heels should be dashed into her face. And Beatrice, with
that finest trait of a woman's courage in danger, which consists in doing
exactly what she is told, began to scramble over the back of her seat.

The situation was critical in the extreme; the traction engine came on
apace, the man with the red flag having paused at a public-house round
the corner, was only now running back into his place. Uncle Tom shouted
vainly to him; his voice was drowned in the deafening roar of the
advancing monster.

But already help was at hand, unheard and unperceived by either uncle or
niece; a horseman had come rapidly trotting up the road behind them. To
spring from his horse, who was apparently accustomed to traction engines,
and stood quietly by, to rush to the plunging, struggling mare, and to
seize her by the head was the work of a moment.

"All right, Mr. Esterworth," shouted the new comer. "I can hold her if
you can get down; we can lead her into the field; there is a gate ten
yards back."

Uncle Tom threw the reins to his niece and slipped to the ground; between
them the two men contrived to quiet