* * * * *

He was lighting his lamps when Jim Greatorex appeared beside him with
a lantern.

"Dr. Rawcliffe, will yo joost coom an' taak a look at lil maare?"

Jim's sullenness was gone. His voice revealed him humble and
profoundly agitated.

Rowcliffe sighed, smiled, pulled himself together and turned with
Greatorex into the stable.

In the sodden straw of her stall, Daisy, the mare, lay, heaving and
snorting after her agony. From time to time she turned her head
toward her tense and swollen flank, seeking with eyes of anguish the
mysterious source of pain. The feed of oats with which Willie had
tried to tempt her lay untouched in the skip beside her head.

"I give 'er they oats an hour ago," said Willie. "An' she 'assn't so
mooch as nosed 'em."

"Nawbody but a donmed gawpie would have doon thot with 'er stoomach
raw. Yo med 'ave killed t' mare."

Willie, appalled by his own deed and depressed, stooped down and
fondled the mare's face, to show that it was not affection that he
lacked.