"Is everyone well, Uncle Dick?" she asked when he gave her an opportunity to speak.
"Quite well, and longing to see you, my dear. What luggage have you? One box? Very well. Come along."
Mr. Dawson led the way to the luggage van at the back of the train, Mousey following. She pointed out her box, which he raised to his shoulder without any effort; and having given up her ticket, they left the station.
"I suppose we shall walk, Uncle Dick?" Mousey said; "but you can't carry my box all the way."
"No, my dear; certainly not. And we're not going to walk. What do you say to that?" indicating a market-cart, with a little brown pony between the shafts. "A new purchase of mine," he proceeded, as he stowed away her box in the body of the cart; "you didn't know I possessed a carriage, did you?"
"Is it really yours, Uncle Dick?"
"Yes, really. I bought the whole turn-out only a few weeks since, as I had the opportunity of getting a good bargain; and I believe I shall make it pay by driving around to the better-class houses in the town, and selling vegetables at the doors. Now then."
He lifted Mousey up in front of the cart, and taking his place by her side, gathered up the reins, and chirruped to the pony, which immediately started off at a trot. The little girl's face was beaming with happiness, for a drive was a pleasure she had not expected.
"What is the pony called?" she inquired.
"Billy," was the response. "He's very quiet and good-tempered, and he goes well, doesn't he?"