Here the boy leaned over the gig and examined the fingerpost. Then he clapped his hands joyfully.
“All right! I thought so, ‘To Tor-Hadham, eighteen miles.’ That’s the road to Tor-Hadham.”
“Do you mean to say I am to drive you all that way,—eighteen miles?”
“Yes.”
“And to whom are you going?”
“I will tell you by and by. Do go on; do, pray. I can’t drive—never drove in my life—or I would not ask you. Pray, pray, don’t desert me! If you are a gentleman you will not; and if you are not a gentleman, I have got L10 in my purse, which you shall have when I am safe at Tor-Hadham. Don’t hesitate: my whole life is at stake!” And the boy began once more to sob.
Kenelm directed the pony’s head towards Tor-Hadham, and the boy ceased to sob.
“You are a good, dear fellow,” said the boy, wiping his eyes. “I am afraid I am taking you very much out of your road.”
“I have no road in particular, and would as soon go to Tor-Hadham, which I have never seen, as anywhere else. I am but a wanderer on the face of the earth.”
“Have you lost your papa and mamma too? Why, you are not much older than I am.”