“What, ride him?” asked Beatrice, “thank you, Carey.”
“Fred might drive you,” said Carey; “O no, poor fellow, I suppose he does not know how.”
Fred coloured with anger. “I do,” said he; “I have often driven our own horses.”
“Ay,” said Beatrice, “with the coachman sitting by you, and Aunt Mary little guessing what you were doing.”
“I assure you, Queen,” said Fred, very earnestly, “I do really know how to drive, and if we may have the gig, and you will trust yourself with me, I will bring you home quite safe.”
“I know you can have the gig,” said Carey, “for papa offered it to Roger and Alex this morning; only we chose all to walk together. To think of doubting whether to drive old Dumple!”
“I don’t question,” said Fred; “I only want to know if Busy Bee will go. I won’t break your neck, I promise you.”
Beatrice was slightly mistrustful, and had some doubts about Aunt Mary, but poor Alex did much to decide her, though intending quite the reverse.
“I don’t advise you, Bee,” said he.
“O, as to that,” said she, pleased to see that he disliked the plan, “I have great faith in Dumple’s experience, and I can sit tight in a chay, as the boy said to grandpapa when he asked him if he could ride. My chief doubt is about Aunt Mary.”