But Isy had only fainted. After some eager ministrations on the part of
Peter, she came to herself once more, and lay panting, her forehead wet as
with the dew of death.
The farmer ran out to a loft in the yard, and calling the herd-boy, a
clever lad, told him to rise and ride for the doctor as fast as the mare
could lay feet to the road.
"Tell him," he said, "that Isy has come to life, and he maun munt and ride
like the vera mischeef, or she'll be deid again afore he wins til her. Gien
ye canna get the tae doctor, awa wi' ye to the tither, and dinna ley him
till ye see him i' the saiddle and startit. Syne ye can ease the mere, and
come hame at yer leisur; he'll be here lang afore ye!--Tell him I'll pey
him ony fee he likes, be't what it may, and never compleen!--Awa' wi' ye
like the vera deevil!"
"I didna think ye kenned hoo _he_ rade," answered the boy pawkily, as he
shot to the stable. "Weel," he added, "ye maunna gley asklent at the mere
whan she comes hame some saipy-like!"
When he returned on the mare's back, the farmer was waiting for him with
the whisky-bottle in his hand.
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