As she mounted the last rise by Whiddycross
Green her ribs were heaving sorely, her breath came in short quick
coughs, her head lagged almost between her bony knees; but none the
less she held on down the steep hill, all strewn with loose stones,
to the ferry slip; and there, dropping her haunches, slid, checked
herself almost at the water's edge, and stood quivering.
Billy Bates, the ferryman at Little Ferry, had heard the clatter of
hoofs, and tumbled out to unchain his boat; a trifling matter for
him, since he habitually slept in his clothes.
"Hallo!" said he, holding his lantern high and taking stock of the
gunner's regimentals. "I allowed you'd be a messenger from Sir
Felix. They tell me her leddyship is expectin'."
"I pity her then," gasped Gunner Sobey, and waved an arm. "Man, the
French be landed, an' the country's ablaze!"
Billy Bates set down his lantern on the slip and ran two trembling
hands through his scanty locks.
"If that's so," he answered, "you don't get no boat of mine. There's
Hosken's blue boat; you'll find her moored off by a shoreline.
Take _she_ if you will; he's a single man."
"Darn your old carcass!" swore Gunner Sobey. "I wish now I'd waited
to cross over before tellin' 'ee!"
"I dare say you do. Well, good night, soce. I'm off to tell the old
woman."
Man is a selfish animal. As Gunner Sobey hauled Hosken's blue boat
to shore, poor Pleasant came down the slip-way and rubbed her muzzle
against his sleeve, dumbly beseeching him to fetch the horse-boat
that she too might cross.
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