Suddenly a woman with a child in her arms rose, as it seemed to
Malcolm, under Kelpie's very head. She wheeled and reared, and,
in wrath or in terror, strained every nerve to unseat her rider,
while, whether from faith or despair, the woman stood still as a
statue, staring at the struggle.

"Haud awa' a bit, Lizzy," cried Malcolm. "She's a mad brute, an'
I mayna be able to haud her. Ye ha'e the bairnie, ye see!"

She was a young woman, with a sad white face. To what Malcolm said
she paid no heed, but stood with her child in her arms and gazed
at Kelpie as she went on plunging and kicking about on the top of
the dune.

"I reckon ye wadna care though the she deevil knockit oot yer harns;
but ye ha'e the bairn, woman! Ha'e mercy on the bairn, an' rin
to the boddom."

"I want to speak to ye, Ma'colm MacPhail," she said, in a tone
whose very stillness revealed a depth of trouble.

"I doobt I canna hearken to ye richt the noo," said Malcolm. "But
bide a wee." He swung himself from Kelpie's back, and, hanging hard
on the bit with one hand, searched with the other in the pocket of
his coat, saying, as he did so--"Sugar, Kelpie! sugar!"

The animal gave an eager snort, settled on her feet, and began
snuffing about him. He made haste, for, if her eagerness should
turn to impatience, she would do her endeavour to bite him. After
crunching three or four lumps, she stood pretty quiet, and Malcolm