While they were eating, the lady of the caravan came down the steps, and with her hands clasped behind her, walked up and down in a very stately manner. She looked at the caravan from time to time with an air of calm delight, and seemed to be much pleased with the red panels and the brass knocker.
When she had taken this exercise for some time, she sat down upon the steps and called "George," whereupon a man in a carter's frock, who had been hidden in a hedge up to this time, parted the twigs and looked out. He was seated on the ground, and had on his legs a baking-dish and a stone bottle, in his right hand a knife, and in his left a fork.
"Yes, missus," said George.
"How did you find the cold pie, George?"
"It warn't amiss, mum."
"We are not a heavy load, George?
"That's always what the ladies say," replied the man. "If you see a woman a-driving, you'll always see she never will keep her whip still; the horse can't go fast enough for her. If horses have got their proper load, a woman always thinks that they can bear something more. What is the cause of this here?"
"Would these two travellers make much difference to the horses if we took them with us?" asked his mistress, pointing to Nell and the old man, who were now ready to go on their way on foot.
"They'd make a difference, in course," said George slowly.
"Would they make much difference?" repeated his mistress. "They can't be very heavy."