“You are very good. I suppose it is because you are so brave.”
“Me brave? I don't feel so. Am I to tell him to drive on?” and he looked at her with haggard and imploring eyes.
Her eyes fell before his.
“Good-by, then,” said she.
He cried with a choking voice to the postilion, “Go ahead.”
The carriage went on and left him standing in the road, his head upon his breast.
At the steepest part of the hill a trace broke, and the driver drew the carriage across the hill and shouted to David. He came running up, and put a large stone behind each wheel.
Lucy was alarmed. “Mr. Dodd! let me out.”
He handed her out. The postboy was at a nonplus; but David whipped a piece of cord and a knife out of his pocket, and began, with great rapidity and dexterity, to splice the trace.
“Ah! now you are pleased, Mr. Dodd; our misfortune will elicit your skill in emergencies.”