"No, I've no children of my own."
"Never been married?"
"No. You're a family man, I can see."
"Thirteen of 'em;" adding, in response to the look of astonishment on Seth's face, "Not too many, not one too many."
"Are they all at home?" asked Seth.
"No; they're here and there;" with a wave of his hands cloudwards, sufficiently comprehensive to denote that his brood were scattered over the face of the earth. "We're a travelling family, you see. I've been a wagoner ever since I was a lad. My youngsters took after me, and travelled further--two to America, one to China, one to Australia; and another"--this with a wistful look into the clouds, yearningly eager to fix the spot--"God knows where. But," he added, with a brighter air, "they're all doing well, most of 'em. I've no occasion to work, but I couldn't live without a whip. I'd like to die with one in my hand. Then, I love the English roads. You're fond of 'em, too, I can see."
"They are very beautiful," said Seth, "to us especially, who see but little of 'em. I haven't been out of London for fifteen years. And this little girl"--with a kindly pressure of Sally's arm--"has never in her life seen the country till now."
Sally's eyes sparkled a rapturous confirmation. This holiday was, indeed, a revelation to her soul; she saw beauty of which she had hitherto had no knowledge or comprehension; and as she sat on the wagon, with one arm fondly caressing the Duchess, whose head was lying on her bosom, she wished that she and those she loved could go jogging along in this way for ever and ever.
[CHAPTER XVII.]
It was nearly noon when the driver said: