"There," I said.
"Where's there?" inquired the carrier.
"Near London," I said.
"Why, that horse," said the carrier, jerking the rein to point him out, "would be deader than pork afore he got over half the ground."
"Are you only going to Yarmouth then?" I asked.
"That's about it," said the carrier. "And there I shall take you to the stage-cutch, and the stage-cutch that'll take you to—wherever it is."
I shared my cakes with the carrier, who asked if Peggotty made them, and told him yes, she did all our cooking. The carrier looked thoughtful, and then asked if I would send a message to Peggotty from him. I agreed, and the message was "Barkis is willing." While I was waiting for the coach at Yarmouth, I wrote to Peggotty:
"My dear Peggotty:—I have come here safe. Barkis is willing. My love to mamma. Yours affectionately.
"P.S.—He says he particularly wanted you to know Barkis is willing."
At Yarmouth I found dinner was ordered for me, and felt very shy at having a table all to myself, and very much alarmed when the waiter told me he had seen a gentleman fall down dead after drinking some of their beer. I said I would have some water, and was quite grateful to the waiter for drinking the ale that had been ordered for me, for fear the people of the hotel should be offended. He also helped me to eat my dinner, and accepted one of my bright shillings.