ound, and went flying down the road, and across the ploughed field, and
into the wood. Then out into the open country, and by-and-by into a
dark, muddy lane--and oh! how muddy Devonshire lanes can be sometimes!

"Let's go into the water to wash ourselves," said Brownie, and coaxed
Jess into a deep stream, which she swam as bravely as possible--she had
not had such a frolic since she left her native Shetland Isles. Up the
bank she scrambled, her long hair dripping as if she had been a
water-dog instead of a pony. Brownie, too, shook himself like a rat or a
beaver, throwing a shower round him in all directions.

"Never mind; at it again, my lass!" and he urged Jess into the water
once more. Out she came, wetter and brisker than ever, and went back
home again through the lane, and the wood, and the ploughed field,
galloping like the wind, and tossing back her ears and mane and tail,
perfectly frantic with enjoyment.

But when she reached her stable, the plight she was in would have driven
any respectable groom frantic too. Her sides were white with foam, and
the mud was sticking all over her like a plaster. As for her beautiful
long hair, it was all caked together in a tangle, as if all the combs in
the world would never make it smooth again. Her mane especially was
plaited into knots, which people in Devonshire call elf-locks, and say,
when they find them on their horses, that it is because the fairies have
been riding them.

Certainly, poor Jess had been pretty well ridden that night. When just
as the dawn began to break, Gardener got up and looked into the
farmyard, his sharp eye caught sight of the stable-door wide open.

"Well done, Bill," shouted he, "up early at last. One hour before
breakfast is worth three after."

But no Bill was there; only Jess, trembling and shaking, all in a foam,
and muddy from head to foot, but looking perfectly cheerful in her mind.
And out from under her fore legs ran a small creature which Gardener
mistook for Tiny, only Tiny was gray, and this dog was brown, of course!

I should not like to tell you all that was said to Bill when, an hour
after breakfast-time, he came skulking up to the farm. In fact, words
failing, Gardener took a good stick and laid it about Bill's shoulders,
saying he would either do this, or tell the mistress of him, and how he
had left the stable-door open all night, and some bad fellow had stolen
Jess, and galloped her all across the country, till, if she ha