“Well, well, lass, never mind that; soldiers are used to it.”
“Do you think I shall ever see him again, Mr. Coachman?”
“No doubt, my lass, but you must wait a little longer; and when he does come back, if he has distinguished, instead of extinguished, himself, he will have the Crimean medal, and perhaps be made a colonel—captain—general—marshal—or even a corporal; who knows? in these war times, every brave man has a chance.”
“Thank you, Mr. Coachman, you make me very happy—I shan’t cry any more.”
“But, Sally, am I to tell your mistress what you said?”
“Oh, dear, no! because I should lose my place; they are not such bad people after all, and master is so very kind to me.”
“I shall say nothing about it.”
“Pray, say nothing.”
“Pst, pst! now, my true blues, full speed for Virginia Water.” In twenty minutes we were before the very picturesque inn called the “Wheatsheaf;” every living soul came out to welcome us, thinking some accident had happened. There was the landlord, landlady, thin and bulky barmaids, house and kitchen maid, cook, pot and post boy, and a number of customers.
“What has happened that you are so late to-day?” said the landlord to the coachman.