She did not mind it so much in the
broad road and in the midst of a large party, with Hal among them, and
no dogs; but alone with only one companion, and in the easy path which
was the shortest way to the cottage, she winced and trembled at the
little black, shaggy Scotch oxen, with white horns and faces that
looked to her very wild and fierce.
'Oh, Gillian, those creatures! Can't we go the other way?'
'No; it is a great deal further round, and there's no time. They won't
hurt. The farmer engaged not to turn out anything vicious here.'
'But how can he be sure?'
'Well, don't come if you don't like it,' said Gillian, impatiently.
'It is your own concern. I must go.'
Dolores did not like the notion of Constance being told that she would
not come because she was afraid of the oxen. She thought it very
unkind of Gillian, but she came, and kept carefully on the side
furthest from the formidable animals. And Gillian really was
forbearing. She did make allowances for the London-bred girl's fears;
and the only thing she did was, that when one of the animals lifted up
its head and looked, and Dolores made a spring as if to run away, she
caught the girl's arm, crying, 'Don't! That's the very way to make him
run after you.'
They got safe out of the paddock at last, and rang at the door. They
were both kissed, Dolores with especial affectionateness, because the
good ladies pitied her so much; and then while Miss Hacket and Gillian
went off to their class, Constance took Dolores up into her own room,
and began to tell her how disappointed she was not to have seen more of
her at the Festival.
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