On the next Old Faithful, driven to dismounting and laboriously lugging Lightning up by the bridle.

But the last zig-zag in front of her called forth piercing shrieks.

For the bay mare, not having been ridden for some time, was full of beans.

Baby Akbar insisted on holding the reins, and Meroo, whose turn it was to hold the umbrella, _would_ slip and slither among the stones, thereby bringing its fringe right on the bay mare's nose.
"Oh! Head-nurse, have a care! The blessed child!" shrieked poor Foster-mother as a more than usually bad stumble sent the umbrella on to the mare's tail.
This was too much for it.

Frightened out of its senses, it gave a frenzied bound forwards, then rearing straight up, hung over the edge of the path, as if it meant to take a downward plunge.
All seemed lost! Foster-father and Faithful stood petrified with despair.