“Steal away.”
The richly caparisoned horses, to employ a term that has been faithful to writers these many years, the beautiful Victoria, handsomely japanned, the earnest songsters leaning back on the cushions and singing the plaintive song, while the fashionable Guernseas stood and drank it all in, formed a picture as unusual as it was pleasing—to me.
Midway in the second verse, even as the Guernseas had surprised us the day before, so to-day the pastor of the Second Congregational Church surprised us to-day by driving past in his buggy, accompanied by his wife.
I think he had meant to stop, but when he saw what was going on, he simply opened his mouth; his good wife opened her mouth, and I think the horse opened its mouth, and they drove by.
They had seen the simple life being lived by six persons.
James and Minerva were ready for an encore, but it did not occur to either Mrs. Guernsea or her daughter to applaud. They contented themselves by saying it was very charming.
But I felt that the labourers were worthy of their hire, and still thinking of the simple life and equality, I said to Mrs. Guernsea, in the most matter of course way:
“I wonder if you wouldn’t let James take Minerva out for a short drive in return for their singing? James is an expert driver.”
Mrs. Guernsea was not at all hard, and besides, I believe that she was in a way hypnotised; so with scarce a moment’s hesitation she said: