She was crying as she wiped away the blood.
"Oh, Jocko, Jocko, I'm so sorry I hurt you! I never thought of such a thing as the frost or the fog! Oh dear, what shall I do to make you well, and how shall I get you home?
And oh, Jocko, we haven't got any eggs!" Kisses and pats on his nose may have been comforting to Jocko, but he could not give his little mistress any assurance on the subject.
"If I could even see the way to get home!" said Terry; "but it seems as if the whole world were full of nothing but wool and feathers! And I can't guess which was the side I came by." She tore her handkerchief in two and made a wet bandage for each of Jocko's knees, and then she could do no more, and sat down by him on the roadside to wait till the fog should clear up a little.

Her teeth began to chatter with cold, and she felt altogether miserable.
"And I meant to be so good, and I thought it would go so well--and oh, those eggs! How can one ever know what things are going to turn into ?" Suddenly she heard a rumbling sound which she knew must be a cart coming along the road, though she could not see it.

She moved the pony and herself carefully in against the bank on the roadside, so that they might not be run over, and then waited anxiously to see what would come out of the fog.
Very soon a horse's head appeared, then his body, and afterwards the cart he was drawing, and the frosty-red face of the driver who was sitting on a load of turf on the cart.
"Hullo!" shouted the man.

"What on airth are you doin' there in the dyke, little missy ?" "Oh," cried Terry, "I've broken my pony's knees, and I can't ride him, and I couldn't see the way to Connolly's farm, and even if I did now I don't know how to get there with Jocko!" "Connolly's farm! Would it be Mike Connolly Mac you would be lookin' for ?" "Oh, I suppose it is!" said Terry.

"I only just heard it called Connolly's farm.