ced
before his nose, till his master had called to him from the window and
released him from his office. The pony, as soon as he had had his basin
of brose, and his bridle and saddle were taken off him, trotted off to
the plot of greenest grass in the neighbourhood.

"That is a curious name you have given your pony, Mr Lawrence,"
observed Maitland, when his guest was comfortably seated at supper. "It
is what would be called in Scotland a water kelpie. Is there anything
of the nature of a Trow in your little animal?"

"More, perhaps, than you think of, friend," answered Lawrence, gravely.
"Neogle can do everything but speak; whatever I tell him he does it
immediately. He follows me like my dog; he'll step into my boat and lie
down at the bottom of it, as readily as Surly Grind himself, or if I
order him to swim astern, he jumps in forthwith; and if I was to take a
cruise round the mainland, he would come after me as long as he had
strength to swim."

"He may do all that and not be a trow," observed Morton, laughing; for
he, as well as Captain Maitland, was anxious to prevent Lawrence's
thoughts running upon the recent events.

"Right, cousin Morton, right," answered Lawrence. "I came honestly by
him by purchase, and called him Neogle on account of his strength, and
sagacity, and docility. The country people gave the name of the Neogle
to a wicked sort of trow, whom they believe lives in the water, and
whose great aim is to carry off people to destroy them. On that account
he appears in the shape of a pretty pony, bridled and saddled, and all
ready for a pleasant gallop across the country. He has a great fancy
for carrying off millers. To do this he stops the wheel of the mill.
That makes the miller come out of the house to learn what is the matter.
On goes the mill once more, and when he looks about he sees the pony.
If he is a young miller, and has not heard about the Neogle, or doesn't
believe in it, or forgets about it--`Ho, ho!' says he, `the mill is
going on all smooth and pleasantly, so I'll just take a gallop, and be
back before it's time to put in more grist.' On that he leaps on the
seeming pony, when off goes the trow, fleet as the winds. Away, away he
goes. In vain the poor miller tries to throw himself off: a broken leg
or an arm would be far, far better than the fate awaiting him. He is
though, he finds, glued, as it were, to the saddle. On gallops the
Neogle over hill and down, and bog, an