The Master was not to be hurried. Two hours for the five miles was his own time, lounging along in a leisurely way, in a series of zig-zags from ditch to ditch.
It was a lovely August morning; the dew lay heavy on the grass, and silvery, gossamer cobwebs hung about the hedges. Helen felt her pulses beating with excitement entirely untouched by fear. A bold adventurous spirit possessed her; there was something so utterly novel, so deliciously strange, in her present undertaking; as if she had left Helen Denis behind, and had embodied herself in a new identity!
Presently the Master was overtaken and passed by various carts, and even by pedestrians—who had each, and all, a word for Sally. But this was not Sally! this was a black stranger, who was not disposed to waste her time in idle badinage, and who took no more notice of them than the stick in her hand, and seemed an "impident, stuck-up piece!" However, it was the Crowmore mule; there was no mistake about him—once seen—never forgotten!
"Mind that mule," cried one, "or he'll break everything that's on him, and run away with you!"
"Faix, and no loss if he does!" retorted another.
"Musha, an' will ye look at the nate foot and ankle we have, hanging so aisy and so careless over the side of the shaft! 'Tis a lady we are, all out! Do ye mind the gloves on her!"
"Bedad, an' if she is, she looks mighty at home on an ass's car," shouted a fourth.
The subject of these and other delicate witticisms, was not sorry to find herself jogging over the cobble stones of the High Street of Terryscreen. Greatly to her astonishment, the Master, of his own accord, rose a beautiful trot for the town, and rattled up in gallant style to Clancy's, the butter shop. His new driver's heart beat unusually fast as she alighted, made the reins secure, and taking a heavy basket on her arm, proceeded to air her brogue in real earnest.
Early as it was, the place was crowded, and she had some difficulty in edging her way to the counter, where she was at once confronted by a big, stout woman, with a merry face, and her hands on her hips, who, staring at her hard, said,—
"An' where is Sally the day?"