if the victoria had stopped in that special
spot for a special reason, and that the mule was a pattern of obedience.
Nevertheless, the little crowd was growing a little larger.

"Now," said the Countess, encouragingly. The tail of the regiment of
policemen had vanished towards the Institute.

"Tchk! Tchk!" Denry persuaded the mule.

No response from those forefeet!

"Perhaps I'd better get out and walk," the Countess suggested. The crowd
was becoming inconvenient, and had even begun to offer unsolicited hints
as to the proper management of mules. The crowd was also saying to
itself: "It's her! It's her! It's her!" Meaning that it was the
Countess.

"Oh no," said Denry, "it's all right."

And he caught the mule "one" over the head with his whip.

The mule, stung into action, dashed away, and the crowd scattered as if
blown to pieces by the explosion of a bomb. Instead of pursuing a right
line the mule turned within a radius of its own length, swinging the
victoria round after it as though the victoria had been a kettle
attached to it with string. And Countess, Denry, and victoria were rapt
with miraculous swiftness away--not at all towards the Policemen's
Institute, but down Longshaw Road, which is tolerably steep. They were
pursued, but ineffectually. For the mule had bolted and was winged. They
fortunately came into contact with nothing except a large barrow of
carrots, turnips, and cabbages which an old woman was wheeling up
Longshaw Road. The concussion upset the barrow, half filled the victoria
with vegetables, and for a second stayed the mule; but no real harm
seemed to have been done, and the mule proceeded with vigour. Then the
Countess noticed that Denry was not using his right arm, which swung
about rather uselessly.

"I must have knocked my elbow against the barrow," he muttered. His face
was pale.

"Give me the reins," said the Countess.

"I think I can turn the brute up here," he said.

And he did in fact neatly divert the mule up Birches Street, which is
steeper even than Longshaw Road. The mule for a few instants pretended
that all gradients, up or down, were equal before its angry might. But
Birches Street has the slope of a house-roof. Presently the mule walked,
and then it stood still. And half Birches Street emerged to gaze, for
the Countess's attire was really very splendid.

"I'll leave this here, and we'll walk back," said Denry. "You won't be
late--that is, nothing to speak of. The