fashion. I know not what moved me, but hearing Mr. Manners carelessly
humming a minuet while my grandfather explained the usefulness of the
mill, I seized hold of one of the long arms as it swung by, and before
the gentlemen could prevent was carried slowly upwards. Dorothy
screamed, and her father stood stock still with amazement and fear, Mr.
Carvel being the only one who kept his presence of mind. "Hold on tight,
Richard!" I heard him cry. It was dizzy riding, though the motion was
not great, and before I had reached the right angle I regretted my
rashness. I caught a glimpse of the Bay with the red sun on it, and
as I turned saw far below me the white figure of Ivie Rawlinson, the
Scotch miller, who had run out. "O haith!" he shouted. "Hand fast,
Mr. Richard!"--And so I clung tightly and came down without much
inconvenience, though indifferently glad to feel the ground again.

Mr. Marmaduke, as I expected, was in a great temper, and swore he had
not had such a fright for years. He looked for Mr. Carvel to cane me
stoutly: But Ivie laughed heartily, and said: "I wad yell gang far for
anither laddie wi' the spunk, Mr. Manners," and with a sly look at my
grandfather, "Ilka day we hae some sic whigmeleery."

I think Mr. Carvel was not ill pleased with the feat, or with Mr.
Marmaduke's way of taking it. For afterwards I overheard him telling the
story to Colonel Lloyd, and both gentlemen laughing over Mr. Manners's
discomfiture.




CHAPTER III