"Why, if I did, the pony would only turn about and follow me." "He would not." "There, then, see," said the boy; and slipping out his arm, he turned and walked back, the pony pivoting round directly.

"Told you so," said Dummy, and he resumed his old place, with his arm through the rein.
"You told him to turn round, sir." "Nay, never spoke to him, Miss Mary .-- There, it aren't no good to be cross with me; I shan't leave you till you're safe home." The girl, flushed with passion, leaned forward, and struck the lad sharply over the shoulders three times.
"There, sir," she cried; "what do you say to that ?" "Thank ye," replied the boy coolly.

"Frighten away the flies." Whish-whish-whish, came the whip through the air.
"Now then," cried Mary; "what do you say now ?" "Hit harder, mistress," said the boy, with a chuckle; "that only tickles." "Oh!" cried Mary, in a burst of passion.

"I did like you, Dummy, but you're a nasty, ugly old thing;" and she subsided in her saddle, sobbing with vexation, while Dummy rounded his shoulders a little more, and plodded on in silence, with the pony's shoes tapping the stony path, as it playfully kept on making little bites at different parts of the boy's clothes.
"'Taren't no use to be cross with me, mistress," said the boy at last.
"Can't help it.

You don't know, and I do.