We told her that too. We had no concealments from this lady.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I have to go on to—what is its name?’
‘Canterbury,’ said H. O.
‘Well, yes, Canterbury,’ she said; ‘it’s only about half a mile. I’ll take the poor little pilgrim—and, yes, the three girls. You boys must walk. Then we’ll have tea and see the sights, and I’ll drive you home—at least some of you. How will that do?’
We thanked her very much indeed, and said it would do very nicely.
Then we helped Denny into the cart, and the girls got up, and the red wheels of the cart spun away through the dust.
‘I wish it had been an omnibus the lady was driving,’ said H. O., ‘then we could all have had a ride.’
‘Don’t you be so discontented,’ Dicky said. And Noel said—
‘You ought to be jolly thankful you haven’t got to carry Denny all the way home on your back. You’d have had to if you’d been out alone with him.’
When we got to Canterbury it was much smaller than we expected, and the cathedral not much bigger than the Church that is next to the Moat House. There seemed to be only one big street, but we supposed the rest of the city was hidden away somewhere. There was a large inn, with a green before it, and the red-wheeled dogcart was standing in the stableyard and the lady, with Denny and the others, sitting on the benches in the porch, looking out for us. The inn was called the ‘George and Dragon’, and it made me think of the days when there were coaches and highwaymen and foot-pads and jolly landlords, and adventures at country inns, like you read about.