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Far and wide, on each side, there were only fields, which no cattle now browsed; and the little brown birds, which stirred occasionally in the hedge, looked like single russet leaves that had forgotten to drop.
What the deuce is to do now?
A rude noise, broke on the fine ripplings and whisperings, at once far away and so clear: a positive tramp, tramp; a metallic clatter...a horse was coming; the windings of the lane hid it, but it approached.
As this horse approached, I remembered certain of Bessie's tales, wherein figured a North-of-England spirit called a 'Gytrash', which, in the form of horse, mule, or large dog, came upon belated travellers, as this horse was now coming upon me.
Are you injured sir?
No Gytrash was this-only a traveller taking the short cut to Milcote. He passed,and I went on; a few steps and i turned; a sliding sound and an exclamation of "What the deuce is to do now?"
Man and horse were down...a dog came bounding back, and seeing his master in a predicament, and hearing the horse groan, barked till the evening hills echoed with the sound...and then he ran up to me; it was all he could do-there was no other help at hand to summon.
I obeyed him, and walked down to the traveller, by this time struggling himself free oh his steed. His efforts were so vigorous, I though he could not be much hurt;but i asked him the question.
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