“I don’t want to,” said Charlie, in a drawling tone.
“Don’t you wish to go, my little fellow?” asked Mr. Sherwood.
“I want to sit on the coachman’s seat,” simpered the boy, as he stuffed his finger into his mouth.
The driver’s seat was not meant for two persons, and Mr. Sherwood was in doubt whether to crowd Charlie into it or not. But seeing from the boy’s manner that he would spoil the pleasure of the party if he did not, and being a very indulgent man, he at last consented. So pulling him up to the footboard, he stowed him away by his side, and cracking his long whip, drove off amidst a volley of cheers from the boys, the laughter of the girls, and the waving of handkerchiefs by Mrs. Carlton and Uncle Morris, from the piazza.
“I want to drive!” muttered Charlie, as soon as they were fairly started.
“You must eat a little more beefsteak, and grow a little taller, my boy, before you undertake to drive such a span as this,” replied Mr. Sherwood, smiling at the boy’s presumption.
“I will drive!” growled Charlie, grasping the reins, and giving them a jerk, which startled the spirited creatures into an uneasy gallop.
“Whoa there, steady Kate, steady!” said Mr. Sherwood, removing the boy’s hands and reining up his team.
After soothing his horses, and bringing them to a gentle trot again, Mr. Sherwood took his reins in his right hand, and, grasping Charlie with his left, suddenly jerked him over the driver’s seat, into the bed of the wagon, saying,